Painfully Human
by CarolineD
Summary: Fifteen years ago, Sheriff Keith Mars's wife took off with their one-year-old daughter. So what happens when he suddenly receives a call from San Diego's social work department regarding Veronica, and he takes her home with him? AU. UPDATE NOV 26
1. Meeting the girl

**Painfully Human.**

_Summary__: Fifteen years ago, Sheriff Keith Mars's wife took off with their one-year-old-daughter. When he suddenly gets a phone call from the San Diego Department of Social Services regarding his daughter Veronica, he finds out that Veronica Mars isn't exactly the sweet and innocent girl he'd expected, and that she will turn life in Neptune around… AU._

_AUTHOR'S NOTE__: Okay. So here is how it's gonna go down:  
The story's set somewhere in January 2004. I don't know exactly when Veronica's born, so I'm assuming somewhere between August 1 and August 23, 1987.  
Lilly Kane didn't die (yet? Insert evil laugh!), and the rest of the people are pretty much the same: Logan's rich, Duncan's rich, Weevil's the big-bad gang leader.  
Wallace's been attending Neptune High since 2003.  
Okay. We're taking off._

_**Rewritten Nov 23**__**rd**__**, will be revised again.**_

_DISCLAIMER__: Do not own Veronica Mars._

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE.**

The annoyingly persistent sound of a phone ringing invaded Keith Mars' thoughts mercilessly.

He'd been trying to concentrate on writing a rapport file about the latest series of pranks played upon inhabitants in the 090909-zip. The key word here was _trying_.

Ring.

It kept on going until he couldn't take it anymore and yelled for Inga to pick it up. Her muffled voice yelled something back; the ringing was replaced by blissful silence. Wonderful.

He tried to focus on the papers on his desk again, frowning as he began to read what he'd already written.

"Keith? It's for you," Inga spoke in her thick accent. Keith looked up and saw her standing in the doorway, shifting her weight from one foot to the other nervously. "San Diego Department of Social Services. I thought you'd like to hear it…" her voice trailed off unsure.

He smiled tiredly. "What's the problem?"

She was fidgeting with the sleeves of her blue blouse. "They didn't want to say," she told him apologetically. "But –

Keith leaned back in his black leather chair and let out a sigh. "Put them through," he replied, rubbing a hand over his burning eyes. "Thanks, Inga."

"Not a problem, sir," she nodded solemnly before leaving.

He furrowed his brow in thought. The day hadn't exactly started out on a high note. Around eight in the morning, there had been – yet another – phone call filled with complaints about the local motorcycle gang having a not-so-polite conversation with someone's car. Keith had had to arrest sixteen-year-old Eli "Weevil" Navarro, the clichéd example of a boy from the wrong side of the tracks, for the second time in less than a year. Next time – and he had told the guy as much – it would be juvie. The Mexican had snorted arrogantly before saying, "Yeah well, what else is new?".

Neptune was filled with guys like Eli Navarro. Constantly feeling outshone by the kids with world-famous actors as parents, they tended to get rebellious. Not living even near the prestigious 090909-zipcode things almost never worked out for them the way they worked out for other, luckier people. And though everyone deserved an equal chance in life in Keith's eyes, some people appeared to be more equal than others in this town.

That didn't mean he had to like it.

Keith's gaze fell upon the blinking red light on the phone on his wooden desk and he quickly pressed the speaker button. "Sheriff Keith Mars speaking," he said in an intentionally light tone.

"Sheriff Mars, this it Steven Parker from the San Diego Department of Social Work. The reason I'm calling is because of your daughter Veronica?" an unfamiliar, deep and reassuring male voice on the other end of the line responded. "We have-"

Keith froze.

"What?" he asked slowly, though he'd heard every word as though the speaker had been sitting next to him.

"Your daughter, Veronica Mars?" Parker repeated. He could hear the shuffling of paper in the background, probably Parker checking whether or not he had the right K. Mars. "Daughter of Keith and Lianne Mars?"

He found himself being glad he'd put the phone on loud; he was sure he would've otherwise dropped the horn.

_Veronica._

_Please…_

Fifteen years ago, give or take a week or three, Lianne had bolted. She'd always been an impulsive woman, but to take off with their one-year-old daughter?  
She'd left a note on the kitchen table. _Sorry. It's better this way. Don't come looking._

It wasn't like Keith didn't have the resources to track down the two of them. He'd been sheriff for a long time and with that title automatically came certain privileges. He'd tried to find them, he had – he just hadn't succeeded. Lianne had taken every precaution she could think of. The last few years he'd been trying to suppress the memories that threatened to overcome him every second he wasn't up to his ears in work.

If there ever was something Keith Mars was not good in, it was suppressing things.

Veronica, little blond Veronica with blue eyes that could charm the hell out of him, always kept appearing in his mind. And now there was a social worker from San Diego calling about her.

"Mr Mars? Are you still there?" Parker's voice pulled him out of his mental freakout.

Keith scrambled to find words. "Yes- I'm here. It's just – yes – what's wrong with her?"

A thousand questions were spinning through his head. Was she alright? Why was he calling? What was going on? Where was Lianne? What did she look like? Could he take her home? Were they coming home? How -

"It would be easier if you could just come down by the office as soon as possible, Mr Mars," Parker told him politely. "Things are a bit too complicated to explain over the phone. Is there a convenient time for you?"

Keith almost screamed in frustration. This was his daughter they were talking about. He hadn't seen her in fifteen goddamn years. He thought he deserved some information, at least.

"Of course, I will come over," he replied, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. "But what's wrong?". He was leaning forward on his desk, fingers drumming against the wooden surface.

The guy sighed. "Mr Mars, Lianne has been an alcoholic for several years. She's been to rehab, and always stayed clean for some time, but sadly enough, she didn't stay that way for long. And now, she's been missing for two weeks. We think it's in Veronica's best interest if she was placed in a safer, healthier environment."

"You've known about this all along and nobody's ever thought about calling me?" Keith asked, his eyes big, anger boiling up inside him. Clearly, these San Diego people had known about his wife and daughter. Then why were they calling now? Why didn't they call years ago? Why hadn't they ever, ever, let him know that they were alright? Hadn't they read the "SEARCHED" posters?

Jesus.

"Mr Mars, if you would just come over, we'll sort things out," Parker dodged his question.

Four hours later, Keith Mars was standing in front of the red, brick building that represented the San Diego Department of Social Work. He peered through one of the windows, right into some woman's office, before he took a deep breath and pushed open the double doors that lead to the entrance hall.

He looked round and unbuttoned his coat. He was still wearing his sheriff's uniform – he hadn't cared about his clothing when he'd heard he could see Veronica.

Now he wished that he had. He had a feeling that no sixteen-year-old girl liked to see her father for the first time in fifteen years dressed like one of the Village People. The hall was airy and spacious, painted in beige and white colours and about as boring as they got.. Around the square place were several offices, with white doors with nametags on them. There were people walking around, but none of them paid attention to him.

His brown eyes searched the doors for the name "Steven Parker". It didn't take long to find it, and he cleared his throat nervously before knocking on it, three times, a quick rattling of knuckles against wood.

It almost immediately flew open, and Keith stared into the face of a tall, dark-haired man in a black suit. There was a large, bald patch forming on the back of his head. His eyes, though small and watery, with pale blue irises and reddish whites, stood friendly.  
"Keith Mars?" he asked, his eyes taking him in from head to toe.

Keith, who was remarkably smaller than the man, nodded. He was suddenly very conscious of his khaki uniform.

Damn it.

"Please enter," Parker said then, his lips curling into a pleasant smile as he took a step backwards to let Keith in. They both took place in the standard uncomfortable chairs that could be found in any kind of cheap office.

"Mr Mars…" Parker began, leaning forwards. Keith stared at him intently, eager to hear more. _Come on_, he thought frustrated. _Don't stutter. Just say whatever the hell it is you have to say and let me see my daughter already._

Parker sighed again, and he started moving some papers that had been lying on his desk around, before he pulled a file from a pile of documents and opened it.

"Veronica Mars, born August 18th, 1987," he read slowly, in a matter-of-factly tone.

Keith nodded. "That's the one."

He was pretty sure impatience could be heard in his voice, but he'd reached the point where he just couldn't bring himself to care anymore.

"Around four years ago, we received the first call regarding Lianne's drinking problem," Parker began, speaking in the slowest voice possible.  
Keith wanted to hit him. No, violence was not the option. Violence was never, could never, be the option, not even when there was a social worked speaking like he was mentally disabled.  
No. That definitely wasn't an option. He couldn't just go around hitting people. What an example would that make him?

"In 2002, Lianne entered a rehabilitation program for two months. Veronica stayed in a foster home. When Lianne got out, she managed to stay clean for about thirty days."

A _foster_ home?

"Did you know all of this, Mr Mars?" Parker asked.

"No," Keith answered. "My wi – Lianne ran away with Veronica when she was a baby. I haven't seen them ever since."

Silence.

"So you didn't know any of this?"

So much for stupid, pointless questions.

"No, I didn't," Keith repeated impatiently. "Like I said, I haven't seen them since."

"Okay," Parker responded, clearly trying to ease up the situation. "Right. That's a new… twist. Don't worry," he said quickly, when he noticed Keith's frown. "We'll figure this out."

He flipped a few pages of the file on the desk.

"Right. So, Lianne was admitted into the program once again. Veronica stayed at another foster home. Sadly, she still didn't manage to stay clean for long and had to enter again. You can see how disturbing this is for Veronica's childhood, especially now she's a teenager."

He pressed his palms against the desk and smiled down at Keith.

"Truth be told, Mr Mars, Veronica isn't your average teenage girl."

Keith hadn't exactly been expecting a pony-and-puppies-kind of girl. She was, after all, his daughter as well, and no girl could grow up normally with a raging alcoholic – he would kill Lianne – as mother. But still, to hear it, to hear the words spoken out loud…

"Lianne disappeared two weeks ago, leaving nothing but a note saying "I'll be back soon" on the kitchen table," Parker continued.

Lianne had a knack of disappearing, it seemed.

Keith took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. Underneath the plastic surface of the table, he clenched his fists.

"It would be better for Veronica if she was placed into the care of a normal parent," the man in front of him said, blinking his green eyes, and he let out a nervous cough.

"Why haven't you called me before?" Keith's question came immediately.

"Apparently…" Parker answered, "Lianne left your number and information on the note she'd jotted down earlier. Said that Veronica had to call you if she got into trouble."

Keith tried to compose himself; it wouldn't do his credibility much good if he vomited words. Stay calm. Relaxed. You're a sheriff. You can deal with this.

Somehow, it was always easier to be the one to tell people this kind of news.

"Can I see her?" He managed to croak out.

There was a short silence again. After many years, experience had thought Keith that, when confronted with silence, most people instinctively want to fill it. This case was no different. Parker shifted his gaze uncomfortably to the table, shoved a few papers around on the smooth surface, before he cleared his throat. His tone wasn't overflowing with confidence, but all that mattered was that his reply was a clipped, "Alright. I'll take you to her."

He stood up and mentioned for Keith to follow him as he left the office.

A few moments later, Keith stood in front of another white-painted door. Through a window with blindfolds he'd been able to see a flash of a petite, blonde girl, alone in the room, sitting in a chair that faced a table. She looked like someone he was about to interrogate, with her feet resting on the table. She looked like she'd been through this a hundred times before.

God.

He felt the reassuring eyes of the social worker thrilling holes into his back, took a deep breath and opened the door.

Immediately, two greyish blue eyes stared at him, cold and angry.

He found himself staring at his daughter – his daughter! – as well.

She resembled Lianne more than him, with blonde hair and big, blue eyes. But she didn't look innocent, or sweet, or anything else Lianne might've looked like at this age. Her eyes were framed with dark eyeliner and matching mascara, her hair was short, her features sharp. She was beautiful, though, and he didn't just think that because she was his child.

She was dressed in a black shirt and faded jeans and dark Allstars, and right now, was shooting daggers at him with her eyes.

"What's the matter?" her voice came, sneering. "Not what you expected?"

She spat out every word, the syllables laced with something Keith could barely distinguish as anger.

This was going to be hard.


	2. Shining light, yeah right

**Painfully Human.**

Alright, dear people. On November 23rd, I have revised this chapter. It's still not up to my usual standards, but I am trying. Life's a bitch, and then you die – and I wanted to get this done before I die.

I am so, so sorry for not posting for over a year.

_**Previously:**_

"_**What's the matter?" her voice came, sneering. "Not what you expected?"**_

_**She spat out every word.**_

_**This was going to be hard.**_

**CHAPTER TWO.**

Keith blinked in surprise.

"Hello," he tried, making his way towards the empty chair that faced his daughter's. He could feel her icy blue gaze thrilling holes into his skull.

"Always this friendly?" he asked, shifting in the seat.

Veronica let out a humourless laugh; her eyes flickered and all he could think of was how beautiful she was underneath the layers of angry makeup and frowns.

"I'm sorry," she spat, and it was probably the most insincere apology he'd ever heard. Tilting her head to the side, a mocking smile split her pale face in two. Her blond hair stroked her cotton-clad shoulder.

In the unforgiving TL-light, Veronica looked almost unearthly.

"I suppose I should've fallen to my knees and thanked you, huh?"

Her eyebrows travelled up her brow. "Would that be enough show for you?"

She was anger and bitterness and sarcasm all wrapped up into one little bundle of a human being. Keith felt a stab of something he couldn't quite define; for the first time in fifteen years, he was watching his daughter and he realized he had not the slightest clue who she was.

Veronica Mars was a mystery to him – a mystery that was currently glaring daggers at him, arms crossed in front of her chest as she waited for him to reply.

"Well, _actually_," he began, leaning towards her conspirationally, "I like animated musicals better. But if you insist…"

He raised his eyebrows to. She didn't bat an eye.

Two could play this game.

For a couple of seconds, they were engaged in a staring contest neither one of them could win. It surprised Keith that she didn't look away. They seemed to be equally stubborn, even though Veronica was a sixteen-year-old girl and Keith was a grown-up man that ran a sheriff's department by, well, being the sheriff. She clearly wasn't going to agree nicely with whatever he proposed or without a struggle. He had the idea that she would give him a hard time.

But she didn't know she probably inherited that pigheadedness from him. He'd show her some Mars qualities – as soon as he had gotten over the fact his daughter was sitting right in front of him.

Veronica finally turned her head away, choosing to study her short nails instead. She balanced the chair she was sitting in on its back legs, placing one of her feet on the plastic table. "You know, I always wondered what you looked like."

"How's that working out for you?" Keith asked, a hint of a smile pulling up the corners of his mouth.

Her blue gaze travelled upwards, to his face. "It's a bit of a let down, actually. Though I do envy you – bald guys never have bad hair days."

He grinned. "Again – are you always this friendly?"

Orbital roll that would've made anyone proud. Veronica allowed her chair to come down to the floor – hard – en sighed. "Look, don't think I don't know why you're here, okay? Mom's gone on one of her crazy trips again and they finally thought of calling you. Why did you come down here? Feeling sorry for the poor little girl you haven't seen in over a decade?"

"Veronica –"

"So now I'm Veronica, your daughter – well I am sorry, sheriff, but I wasn't your daughter all those years ago now was I? Where were you, my father, when I was eight and alone? Where were you when Mom decided it was a good idea to drink Vodka like water?"

Her fist slammed down on to the tabletop. "Where were you when all that happened?"

"Veronica, I tried to find you," Keith spoke silently. "But I didn't know where you were. If I had, I would've come, I would've helped –"

"You're a sheriff!" Veronica yelled, getting up so fast the chair scraped over the floor before toppling over. The sound resonated through the room. Her little hands were clawing at the table. "You can find anybody!"

"I couldn't," he shot back, "I tried, believe me, I tried –"

"Oh, I believe you tried," she laughed mercilessly, "You just didn't try hard enough!"

"Veronica…" Keith told her in a warning tone. He got up, too, his eyes taking in the sight of her. She was practically trembling with anger, her face ablaze with fury.

"Stop calling me _Veronica_!"

She took a few staggering steps backwards and covered her face with her hands. For a second Keith thought she was crying, and he felt a hard knot in the pit of his stomach. Then she straightened herself to look him in the eye and spoke, her voice as steady as ever, "Just don't, okay? I don't want to hear it."

It was at that precise moment Parker decided to bust into the tiny office. His eyes darted from Keith to Veronica, probably taking in the scene. "Everything alright?" he questioned then, his voice enquiring.

Keith took a deep breath and nodded. Veronica sneered, "Peachy."

The social worker opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated. "Mr Mars… Veronica…"

Veronica rolled her eyes. "Just spit it out."

Parker scraped his throat. "Mr Mars, I need you to sign a couple of papers if you're going to take Veronica with you."

Keith nodded and, with one last look at his long-lost daughter, followed Parker out.

"Yeah, good look with that!" Veronica cried out after the two of them, even though they couldn't hear her. She collapsed back into the uncomfortable chair and rested her head on the table, closing her eyes.

About half an hour later, her father – father, how strange – entered the office again. She couldn't bring herself to say anything so she just quirked her eyebrow.

Sure, Keith Mars _looked_ nice enough – but appearances were merely that: appearances. Mom looked fine to the outside world, but she'd drink herself unconscious. If there was one thing Veronica had learned from rehab-visits being planned while in a foster home, it was that people never stayed forever. She'd stopped trying to please or make a good impression when Lianne was brought to the clinic for yet another time, and she was dumped at some new place.

The Parker guy came in after Keith, and he smiled encouragingly at her.

Oh yes. By all means, play nice to the poor blonde.

She placed her chin in her hand, her elbow propped upon the table, and smiled fakely. "Who's up for a round of Good Cop, Bad Cop?"

"Veronica, you're going to go home with your dad, okay?" Parker responded, obviously deciding to ignore the stab that had been aimed at the uniform-clad man. "Is that alright with you?"

Like she had a choice.

"What's up with these rhetorical questions? Don't you know they're not supposed to be answered?" she asked irritably. "Man, I thought community college was supposed to pay off in some way."

Parker clapped his hands and continued with, "Excellent! I'm sure you'll get along well once you've gotten to know each other. He is your father, after all."

She snorted. Keith shot her an exasperated look.

"He's not my dad," Veronica blurted out.

She hadn't really meant to say that out loud, but that didn't make it any less true. How could you accept a complete stranger as your father? She'd only just met him.

Her mom had always said her dad was the one that'd left them. That, after their horrible divorce, she'd taken Veronica to San Diego to start a new life there.

So much for honesty, Mom. What, you couldn't leave me with just the fifty percent chance of becoming an alcoholic?

"You ready?" Keith suddenly asked; Veronica could tell he was nervous. She got up slowly, thrusting her hands into the pockets of her dark wash jeans before shooting both men a glare.

Great. Just great.

Were they even allowed to force her to go home with a man she didn't know? Weren't there some children's rights they'd overlooked?

She wondered about all those things as she sat in the passenger seat of the black car that was Keith Mars's. She was staring out of the window, watching the world pass by, so she didn't have to look at him. Her father.

Was it legal to just let her leave with a guy who claimed he was her long-lost dad? Could they just do that? Didn't her vote count?

Of course, her vote hadn't counted when her mother had been shipped off to rehab, either. It seemed that petite, sixteen-year-old blondes didn't have much to say in the world of social workers.

Keith had turned on the radio; now he was fiddling with a few buttons in an attempt to change the station. He had tried to get into a conversation with her a couple of times, but she'd quickly discouraged him by giving the shortest answers possible. He probably still believed she'd open up as soon as she got accustomed to him.

Dream on.

She let a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding escape, her fingers gliding over the safety belt crossing her chest.

Veronica could feel Keith's eyes on her, yet continued to stare out of the window stubbornly. They were on the highway, their surroundings were a blur. San Diego was now far behind them.

"I live in Neptune," Keith's voice filled the air suddenly. "You ever been to Neptune?"

She shook her head, still not looking at him. Damn him for starting to talk again.

"It's a nice city," he continued, obviously trying to break the uncomfortable silence. "Of course, there's the usual criminality that comes with two totally different kinds of people, but that's where I come in."

Oh yes, she could see it coming. _Of course_ the streets in Neptune had to be dark, whatever time of the day. And _of course_ Keith Mars was the shining light in the oppressive endless night, seeking truths that others hid, justice that others evaded, equality that others stifled with money and power. Yes, she was pretty sure the sheriff of Neptune was going to go for that kind of fairytale.

She completely surprised when he didn't.

He didn't go on. And she was Veronica Mars, who'd never been good at unfinished conversations. Her curiosity was roaring its ugly head again.  
"So, this is supposed to impress me in what way?"

It was then she realized he'd probably done it on purpose. Damn him!

Settling back into her seat, she clenched her jaw and crossed her arms.

"Hey, wake up."

Her eyes shot open.

Veronica looked round and stared right into the face of Keith. She blinked a few times, kept staring at him stupidly, before she remembered who he was. Right.

"We're here," he announced proudly. He turned off the radio, killed the engine and hopped out of the car. Veronica let out a groan.

Slowly, she started to get out of the car as well. She grabbed her bag, that had rested between her feet for the entire ride, and as soon as she got out, she noticed that, even though it was already evening, it was still pretty hot. It reminded her of San Diego.

Of course, Keith hadn't brought her over to Alaska; it was only natural that the temperature was barely different. But still, it felt weird to her.

She swayed a little on her feet, her legs numb from the long drive.

"Are you o-" Keith began, but she interrupted him with a short, "I'm fine.", before she turned to face him.

"So, where is that house of yours, papa dearest?" she asked him, biting sarcasm sounding through her voice.

As usual, he ignored the stab.

"This way," he told her, and he lead her towards a stairway.

The house wasn't so much of a house as well as an apartment. The whole housing-complex looked like it used to be an hotel, complete with swimming pool. Keith's apartment was on the second floor, and he shot her an apologetic look as he opened the front door.

"I didn't know you were coming, so I'm afraid we'll have to clear out your room later."

He stepped inside.

Veronica closed the door behind her, looking round.

It wasn't big; the whole apartment existed out of one space, with a small hallway with three doors, probably leading to bedrooms or bathrooms. Upon entering, she immediately stood in the tiny living room, with a brown and a white-blue striped couch and a small TV. On the other side of the space was the kitchen. There were pictures and photographs all over the walls.

She dropped her bag on the wooden floor and shoved it out of her way with her foot.

"Great. Now all I need is a little brown Chihuahua, a pink purse and a boob job and I'll blend in perfectly."

Keith let out a sigh.

She didn't feel sorry for him. So he had to put up with her. Hardly a big deal. She'd be gone within a month, she was pretty damn sure of that.

She collapsed on to the couch and smiled up at the man. "What?"

She finally turned her head away and said, while studying her short fingernails, "You know, I always wondered what you'd look like."

Her eyes met his, piercing blue versus brown.

"And how's that working out for you?" Keith asked. Great. He was arguing with his daughter already. Couldn't this wait until after they got home?

"It's a bit of a bummer, actually." Veronica responded.

"You know, you should really try not being this aggressive." He replied.

She snorted loudly and he could swear he saw a sparkle of amusement in her greyish-blue eyes. "Yeah, that's gonna happen."

Keith let out a sigh. "You do know why I'm here, don't you?"  
Veronica leant backwards in the uncomfortable plastic chair. Her hands went through her short blond hair before she put it into a messy ponytail. She rolled her eyesand then,she answered.

"Is this a rhetorical question? Because if it is, you should know that you can wait as long as you want, but I'm not gonna answer it. That's kinda the point of the whole rhetorical-question-thing, you know."

"Veronica…" Keith told her warningly, his voice low. Damn. She really _was_ stubborn.

"Oh, so all of a sudden I'm Veronica, your daughter, huh?" she suddenly said loudly. "Well, let me ask you a question!"

She stood up and bent over, looking Keith in the eye. Her whole face was ablaze with anger, and that angry face was only a few inches away from Keith's.

"Where were you all those years ago, huh? Where were you when Mom was sent to rehab? Where?"

Her hands were clawing at the edges of the table, her whole body tensed up, but all Keith could think about was how _tiny_ she really was.

"I didn't know where you were!" he answered her, his tone a bit louder than before. "If I had known, I would've helped, would've done anything –"

"You are a sheriff!" Veronica cried out. "You can track people down!"

"I _couldn't_." Keith replied, and he stood up as well. Veronica didn't move away, just kept staring at him, breathing heavily. "Believe me, I tried –"

"Oh, I believe you," she yelled, and let out a fake laugh. "I believe that you tried – just not hard enough."

"Veronica, I'm warning you –" Keith continued, but again, she cut him off, "Yeah right."

"Veronica-"

"Stop, okay, just… stop!"

Her voice was trembling.

She took a few steps backwards and covered her face with her hands. For a second Keith thought she was crying and he felt a hard knot in the pit of his stomach, but then she straightened herself to look him in the eye, and spoke, her voice as steady as ever, "Just don't, okay? I don't want to hear it."

It was at that precise moment that Parker decided to bust into the tiny office. His eyes darted from Keith to Veronica and back again, probably taking in the situation. "Everything alright?" he asked then, his voice reassuring.

Keith took a deep breath and nodded. Veronica didn't respond.

Parker opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated. "Mr Mars… Veronica…"

Veronica rolled her eyes. "Just say it already."

The social worker scraped his throat. "Mr Mars, I need you to sign a few papers if you're gonna take Veronica with you."

Keith nodded and, with one last look at his long-lost daughter, left the room with Parker.

"Yeah, good luck with that!" Veronica cried out after the two of them, even though they couldn't hear her.  
She collapsed into the chair again and rested her head on the table.

This day officially sucked. Big-time.

A good half-hour later, her "father" – her father, what a bunch of crap – entered the office again, and she couldn't bring herself to do anything but quirk an eyebrow at him.

He looked nice enough; not like Mom, who would drink herself unconscious whenever she felt things got out of hand (hah! As if they didn't get out of hand when she opened another bottle of vodka!), but if there was one thing she'd learnt from rehab-visits being planned while in a foster home, it was that people never stayed forever. She'd stopped trying to make a good impression when Lianne was brought to the clinic for yet another time.

The Parker guy came in after him, and he smiled encouragingly at her.

_Oh, yes, let's all play nice to the poor blonde, shall we? _

She smiled up at the two of them, a mixture of fake sweetness and sarcasm. Her favourite.

"Are we gonna play "Good cop, Bad cop" again? Because last time, I wasn't completely prepared, you know."

"Veronica, you're gonna go home with your dad, okay?" Parker said, obviously deciding to ignore the stab that had been aimed for Keith Mars, "Is that alright with you?"

Yeah, like she had a choice.

When she didn't answer, he clapped in his hands and continued with, "Excellent! I'm sure you'll get along well, once you've gotten to know each other."

She clenched her jaw, but kept quiet.

"Good. We'll arrange for your other stuff to be sent to your dad's house, don't worry about that."

"He's not my dad," Veronica blurted out.

She hadn't really meant to say that out loud, but that didn't make it less true. She really did not see Keith Mars as her father. She'd only met him right now.

Mom always said her dad was the one that'd left them. That, after their divorce, she'd taken Veronica to San Diego to start a new life there.

_So much for honesty, Mom. Just another thing you've learnt me. Wasn't the fifty percent chance of becoming an alcoholic as well enough? _

"Alright. Let's get you guys going, then," Parker smiled.

"You ready?" Keith suddenly asked, and Veronica could tell he was nervous.

She stood up slowly and thrust her hands into the pockets of her jeans before she shot her "dad" a dark look and followed the two men outside.

Great. Just great.

Were they even allowed to just force her to go home with a man she didn't even know? she wondered as she sat in the passenger seat of the black car that was Keith Mars's. She was staring determinedly out of the window, so she didn't have to look at the guy next to her.

Was it legal to just let her leave with a man that claimed that he was her long-lost father? Could they just do that? Didn't her vote count?

Of course, her vote hadn't counted when Mom was shipped off to rehab for two months either. It seemed that petite, sixteen-year-old blondes didn't have much to say in the world of social workers.

Keith had put on the radio, now he was fiddling with a few buttons in an attempt to change the station. He'd tried to get into a conversation with her a few times, but she had quickly made him stop by giving him the shortest answers possible. He probably thought she'd open up as soon as she got a bit settled, accustomed to him.

She let a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding escape, her fingers gliding over the safety belt that was stretched across her chest.

She felt Keith's eyes on her and continued to stare out of the window, watching the landscape pass by. They'd left San Diego a long time ago.

"I live in Neptune," Keith's voice suddenly filled the air. "You ever been to Neptune?"

She shook her head, still not looking at him. Damn. Damn him for starting to talk again.

"It's a nice city," Keith continued, obviously only to break the uncomfortable silence, filled with unspoken words, between them. "Of course, there's the usual criminality, you know, a motorcycle gang and all that stuff, but there's where I come in."

Oh yes, she could see it coming. _Of course_ the streets in Neptune had to be dark, whatever time of the day. And _of course_ Keith Mars was the shining light in the oppressive endless night, seeking truths that others hid, justice that others evaded, equality that others stifled with money and power. Yes, she was pretty sure the sheriff of Neptune was going to go for that kind of fairytale.

She completely surprised when he didn't.

He didn't speak again, and she was Veronica Mars, and had never been good at holding herself in, so she broke the silence this time.  
"So, what, this is supposed to impress me in what way?"

It came out snappy and cold. Exactly how she'd intended it to sound. Good job, Veronica, let's piss the sheriff off, why don't you?

But she couldn't bring herself to care.

"Hey, wake up."

Her eyes shot open.

Veronica looked round and stared right into the face of Keith. She blinked a few times, kept staring at him stupidly, before she remembered who he was. Right.

"We're here," Keith announced proudly. He turned off the radio, pulled the keys out of the contact and hopped out of the car. Veronica let out a groan.

Slowly, she started to get out of the car as well. She grabbed her bag, that had rested between her feet for the entire ride, and as soon as she got out, she noticed that, even though it was already evening, it was still pretty hot. It reminded her of San Diego.

Of course, Keith hadn't brought her over to Alaska; it was only natural that the temperature was barely different. But still, it felt weird to her.

She swayed a little on her feet, her legs numb from the long drive.

"Are you o-" Keith began, but she interrupted him with a short, "I'm fine.", before she turned to face him.

"So, where is that house of yours, papa dearest?" she asked him, biting sarcasm sounding through her voice.

As always, he ignored the stab.

"This way," he told her, and he lead her towards a stairway.

The house wasn't so much of a house as well as an apartment. The whole apartment-complex looked like it used to be an hotel, complete with swimming pool. Keith's apartment was on the second floor, and he shot her an apologizing look as he opened the front door.

"I didn't know you were coming, so I'm afraid we'll have to clear out your room later."

He stepped inside.

Veronica closed the door behind her, looking round.

It wasn't big; the whole apartment existed out of one space, with a small hallway with three doors, probably leading to bedrooms or bathrooms. Upon entering, she immediately stood in the tiny living room, with a brown and a white-blue striped couch and a small TV. On the other side of the space was the kitchen. There were pictures and photographs all over the walls.

She dropped her bag on the wooden floor and shoved it out of her way with her foot.

"Great. Now all I need is a little brown Chihuahua, a pink purse and a boob job and I'll blend in perfectly."

Keith let out a sigh.

She didn't feel sorry for him. So, he had to put up with her. Hardly a big deal. She'd be gone within a month, she was pretty damn sure of that.

She collapsed on to the couch and smiled up at the man. "What?"

_A/N: Haven't gotten around to re-writing this chapter yet, because of one particularly annoying sister... I don't like to write with an audience, and my sister's the kind of girl that likes to know why my fingers are rattling over the keyboard like a train. I still have her thinking I'm writing extremely long emails, but that ain't lasting long by the rate she's figuring things out. And the last thing I want to do is explain to her why I have Veronica Mars stories saved on my computer._

_C._


	3. Pirates and parrots

**Painfully Human.**

_Summary__: Fifteen years ago, Sheriff Keith Mars's wife took off with their one-year-old-daughter. When he suddenly gets a phone call from the San Diego Department of Social Services regarding his daughter Veronica, he finds out that Veronica Mars isn't exactly the sweet and innocent girl he'd expected, and that she will turn life in Neptune around… AU._

_AUTHOR'S NOTE__: Yay, more feedback. They make my day, you guys! It's great to hear that you're enjoying it. _

_C._

_DISCLAIMER__: Do not own Veronica Mars._

**Revised on Nov 23****rd****. Still not up to par.  
I'm so sorry for having abandoned you for so long. C**

* * *

_**  
Previously:**_

_**She collapsed on to the couch and smiled up at the man. "What?"**_

CHAPTER THREE

Veronica stared up at the ceiling and silently damned the couch to hell.

It wasn't like Keith – herfatherfather_father_ – hadn't suggested she'd sleep in his bed, but she had rejected the offer with a shake of her head. She didn't need his stupid bed. The couch would do just fine.

Right.

She turned to her other side and had a clear view on the dark kitchen, the two dirty plates in the sink glimmering in the small stripe of moonlight, that fell through the window into the apartment. She let out a sigh; it was the only sound to disturb the silence. She raised her wrist and looked at the old watch she always wore.

Another sigh. It was a little past two.

Memories of social workers, offices, her mother, seeing Keith for the first time, they all resurfaced, flooding her tired brain. Really, she didn't want to think about anything at all, let alone all the trouble Mom's runaway had caused. She just wanted to sleep, to get away from the mess for a second, and everything would be alright when she woke up, because that's the way fairytales go.

Who was she kidding?

Life in San Diego hadn't really been interesting; she went to school, she did her homework, and most of her free time was spent trying to keep Mom away from the liquor cabinet. Lianne hadn't dated, ever, but apparently she'd found her ideal man in José Cuervo.

Veronica had had friends, but not the kind of friends she trusted with her deepest, darkest secrets. They all were nice to hang out with, fun to talk to, and above all, a nice laugh, but they weren't the kind of people that would come running for their friend's alcoholic mom.

Veronica let out another deep sigh and rolled on her back, closed her eyes in another attempt to catch some sleep. It didn't work.

She rubbed her hands over her face, pressed them against her closed, tired eyes, combed her short hair with her fingers. How was it that she always got into this kind of mess? Was everything just destined to suck? God.

Eyes open, closed, open, closed.

Sadly enough, closing her eyes meant images of Mom – of Lianne – popping up in her head, and a thousand unanswered questions – why did you run, why didn't you take me, why, why, why, so many why's…

Mom had disappeared before, but she never stayed away longer than a week. Usually, after a day or four, Veronica would get a call from an angry bartender asking whether she was going to come to pick up her mother or not. She hadn't really worried when her mom had fled for the umpteenth time, leaving nothing but a note on the table.  
That was, until one week passed, and then another one, and Veronica'd finally gathered the courage to call a social worker – a move she now regretted. Everything, even sitting in an empty house, was better than lying here, trying to get some sleep while her mind wandered off to Keith Mars, her _father_, who was snoring loudly in his bedroom.

Great, just absolutely great.

She placed one of the cushions over her head in an attempt to push the images away.

A soft, golden light fell through the blinds that hung at the windows, shone in her face. She opened her eyes slowly, blinked, went to sit upright. Her eyes darted off through the apartment, that was currently bathing in yellowish hues.

At that same moment, she heard a door slam shut and jumped up in surprise when the smiling face of Keith Mars greeted her from across the room, the bald spot on his head glimmering in the morning light.

"Good morning," he greeted her. "Slept well?"

She bit back an angry retort, instead said, "As well as can be expected, I guess."

Was she mistaken, or did Keith's face show some kind of relief? What, was he relieved that she hadn't immediately taken out the big guns when she was only right awake? Jesus.

A quick glance at her watch told her it was twenty past seven in the morning – too early, even for her, to have brilliant comebacks to shoot back.

Veronica went with her hand through her hair – she was glad she'd showered yesterday evening, even if it had been on Keith's request – and walked over to the kitchen counter that also served as a table. She took place in one of the high seats and grabbed an apple out of the fruit basket.

"You don't want something more breakfast-ey than that?" Keith asked her as he stood at the sink, rummaging through the cabinets on the wall. "Cornflakes or something?"  
"I'm fine," she replied, taking a bite of the apple. She looked out of the window on her right.

It was a beautiful day. Typical.

A few minutes passed in silence, Veronica munching on her apple, Keith searching for whatever he needed.

He was the one to break the silence.

"So, I was thinking," he began, hesitation lacing his words, "seeing as it's already October, maybe we could go and enter you in a school, huh?"

Yeah, school. That's gotta be on the top of the list of "How to annoy a sixteen-year-old girl that's just moved in with the father she's never seen before". Definitely.

When he saw the disgusted expression on her face, he hastily continued. "I know, we haven't really bonded yet, but we can do some father-daughter bonding anytime. I think it's important that you don't miss too much of school."

The hesitation was switched with a certain tone of finality.

She ripped her gaze away from the apple she'd been staring at and raised an eyebrow at him. "What, are you getting tired of me already?"  
He closed the cabinet and turned round to face her. "Like I said, I don't want you to miss too much of school."  
"And that's where we differ – again," Veronica answered coldly, and she took another bite.  
"Veronica, don't speak to me like that. I'm the father here." Keith responded, his tone clearly indicating he wasn't willing to have this conversation again.

"Oh, so all of a sudden you're my father again? Yeah, of course. It doesn't matter that I don't know you at all, or that we've never met before, no, because you're my father, right?" Veronica asked him loudly, her voice trembling with barely withhold anger. He was playing the father card again. How original.

When there came no reply, she clenched her jaw in frustration. It was easier to snap at him than to talk to him normally; anger had always been her best defence mechanism, and it had always worked fine for her. At her old school, nobody really took notice of her; and when they did, she always had a comeback ready. Years of having an alcohol-addicted mother kinda made you that way.  
But Keith Mars didn't seem to care about that. Damn.

"I'm taking the day off at work today. I'll start working on your room in the afternoon," Keith suddenly said.

Her eyes fixed on the table, she ignored him. "Whatever," she muttered a few seconds later.

"Veronica?" his voice came.

She didn't answer.

"Veronica?" he asked again.

She looked up, greyish blue eyes meeting brown. She could tell he was getting frustrated. It lingered in his eyes, on his features, the way his jaw clenched at her lack of response.  
"I will enter you in a school today. It would be nice if you'd come with."  
Veronica rolled her eyes. "Fine. Do what you have to do, pops."

He sighed.

Desperate dad? For the first time, she was able to fill in "check" as an answer.

* * *

It was twelve fifteen, and they were both standing in front of a large, modern building with a big banner that read "Pirates!" above the double entrance doors. The school, that went by the incredibly original name of "Neptune High" was surrounded by a huge parking lot filled with expensive cars, a few lush grass fields and a large lunch area stacked with benches and tables.

Veronica had to admit she'd been a little impressed by the amount of BMW's shining in their very own privileged parking spot, and she couldn't help but feel like there would be a crapload of rich kids around.

"You alright? You look pale," Keith asked as he looked at the glass doors.

She could see people walking through the hallways. She swallowed. "Do I have to be ready?"

He shrugged in response. "This is the best school in Neptune."

Her eyes focused on the cloudless blue sky, just to have something to look at. "I could've done this on my own, you know."

Keith sighed in frustration. "Veronica, I'm-"

"My father?" she cut him off, snickering as she stepped through the double doors. "Wow. Weirdest sense of déja-vu here."

She walked into the hallway and immediately felt eyes on her, checking her out. There weren't a lot of people around right now, but she was sure she'd heard someone whisper "Is she new?" when she walked towards the principle's office, Keith leading her.

The waiting room in front of the office was just the same as the rest of Neptune High – or at least, what she'd seen already. Clean, modern, with in the middle a large reception desk. An example of a school with a lot of snobby rich kids that went shopping with their daddy's credit card.  
The woman standing behind the desk smiled at her.

She quirked an eyebrow.

Keith shot her a dark look, and Veronica smiled sweetly at him.

"You could try to be a bit nicer to people," he told her sternly.

She clasped her hands together like in a prayer, looked up at the ceiling and declared loudly, "Lord, please help me be a nice girl – but not yet."

The parrot in the cage behind the desk made a sound that resembled a laugh.

_A/N: Sooo, the story's finally taking off! It's moving a bit slow, but everything will change once our precious V enters Neptune High, of course! Imagine the 09'ers she can piss off, the snappy retorts she'll be able to shoot, and how wise-ass she'll go on Mr Woo. __Yay for Neptune High!_


	4. What furniture shopping can do to a girl

**Painfully Human.**

Summary: Fifteen years ago, Sheriff Keith Mars's wife took off with their one-year-old-daughter. When he suddenly gets a phone call from the San Diego Department of Social Services regarding his daughter Veronica, he finds out that Veronica Mars isn't exactly the sweet and innocent girl he'd expected, and that she will turn life in Neptune around… AU.

_AUTHOR'S NOTE:__ I'm gonna say it again and again and again – thanks for reading, I love that you're enjoying it, leave your opinion by posting a review, yadda, yadda, yadda, you know the drill, right?_

_It's taken me a long time to write this chapter, mainly because I've been busy with school assignments and because I had to assist on a few school-parties and stuff. And because I managed to stumble and fall and now my foot's hurting like hell. But anyway… I'm terribly sorry, héhé._

_Anyway, here's what you all have been waiting for…_

_AND just so you know. Lilly's not dead. Comprendre? Not. I'm not saying anything else._

_C._

_Disclaimer: Not mine. Niet van mij._

_Revised fleetingly Nov 23rd_

* * *

_**Previously:**_

_**The parrot in the cage made a sound that resembled a laugh.**_

_**CHAPTER FOUR**_

After sitting in the uncomfortable chairs for another ten minutes or so, the door of the principle's office opened. A tall, balding man dressed in a standard grey suit appeared in the doorway, his brow wrinkled in what seemed like a permanent frown.

He did, however, raise his thick eyebrows as he looked at Keith, and something that looked like a smile – from Veronica's distance –tucked at the corner of his mouth. Then, his gaze sweeped over Veronica, and the smile fell, though he tried not to let it appear so damn obvious. And failed. Miserably.

"Keith – come in." his voice boomed after that.

Veronica followed the two men into the office, and watched as vice-principle Clemmons closed the door. She took place in the chair next to Keith's, crossed her arms in front of her chest and waited, her foot tapping on the floor impatiently.

Clemmons cleared his throat before he spoke. "So – I understand this must be a difficult situation for both of you –"

"Ha!" Veronica interrupted him loudly. Word seemed to travel fast in a tiny town like this. And she did not mean that in a good way.

Keith sent a glare her way. "We're doing as good as can be expected, thank you." he replied calmly.

Clemmons's eyes were shifting from Keith to Veronica, but he apparently chose not to say anything. "Right. I will inform the teachers about what's going on. When exactly will Veronica be attending school?"

"I was thinking Friday," Keith immediately answered the question, before Veronica could even process it.

She stared at him open-mouthed. Friday? As in two days from now? Was he so desperate to get rid of her? Was that why he was sending her off to a new school before she could even blink?

But fine. If he wanted to act like an ass, so could she.

Weren't they related for a reason?

Keith and Clemmons were discussing her grades now. Veronica wasn't paying attention – she was actually studying her nails, her nails! – and waited until someone said something she could protest against.

"Okay, so that's settled," Clemmons suddenly ended the conversation, and he leant forward, his elbows propped on his desk. "I'll make sure that your timetable is ready by tomorrow. Is that alright at you?"

Veronica looked up, her eyebrows raised. "What, I'm supposed to give my actual opinion on something now?"

She heard Keith sigh next to her and continued. "Well, that's new."  
"Veronica…"

Her eyebrows travelling even further up her forehead, she turned to look at her father. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'll be quiet now."

Clemmons scraped his throat uneasily, clearly feeling uncomfortable. "If you two need a moment –"

Veronica glanced up and saw Keith shake his head. "We'll be fine, thank you," he said, a hint of finality in his calm voice. "Everything's settled?"  
Clemmons nodded. "Yes. We'll be expecting Veronica Friday morning."

"Okay. C'mon, Veronica," Keith's answer came as he stood up from his chair. Veronica did the same, a smirk on her face. Her eyes darted through the room as she did and fell upon the still uncomfortable looking vice principle of Neptune High. She smiled sweetly as she waved her goodbye.

Once outside, Keith opened his mouth to say something, probably something fatherly or something beginning with "Why" or "How" or "What the hell were you thinking", but it didn't came. Instead, he stared at someone – two someones, actually – that were sitting in the same seats they had been sitting in earlier on.

They were sitting as far away from each other as possible, their faces twisted with obvious disgust.

The one on the right was the shortest, but broad and muscular, his skin betraying his Mexican roots. He was bald, the light of the TL-lamps on the ceiling making his head shine in a way that could have been funny, but wasn't.  
He was wearing a black, sleeveless shirt and a pair of jeans, and had a tattoo on his shoulder. On his lap, he held a black, leather jack, and he was almost lounging on the plastic hair.

The other guy was taller, not as muscular and average-built, with short, brownish hair and ditto eyes, wearing a polo-shirt and a pair of neatly-cut designer jeans. Oh yes, Veronica could smell that they were custom cut. His face, though handsome, was carrying something that resembled a smirk.

And she could feel their eyes on her.

"Sheriff Mars. What a surprise." The guy on the left broke the awkward silence. "How nice to see you."  
"Logan," Keith nodded as he took a step forward, to the two boys. "What brought you to the principle's office?"

Veronica just leant against the wall, her hands deep in the pockets of her jeans, while Keith tried to make conversation.

"Oh, you know, little things, this and that," Logan – his face was vaguely familiar – replied.  
The guy on the other side of the row of chairs snorted loudly. "Yeah, 'cause Golden Boy can do no wrong."

It was then Keith decided to have a chat with the lady behind the information desk, not hearing the rest of the conversation. Veronica let out a frustrated sigh.

Logan leant forward and looked at the Mexican, which caused his brown eyes to glow in the light. "Excuse me, Pool Boy?"

Said "Pool Boy" shrugged. "I'm just sayin', you seem to live by your own rules instead of the school's. Think your parents are gonna be glad with that?"

Logan raised a finger and shook it, shaking his head in mock sadness. "Hey now, let's not start insulting my rules or I'll have to start insulting your ridiculous lack of hair and it'll become a slippery slope of meanness."

"Yeah, because my hair is worse than yours. You do realize your hair has blond tips, right?" the other guy shot back.

Logan yawned. "Well, as the matter of fact, I am also aware that whatever you say is the spoken equivalent to candy floss – empty of substance and bad for you. Do you realise that whenever you open your mouth, some of my brain cells just die?" He stressed his words by a dramatic hand-gesture.

The Mexican rolled his eyes. "I don't know why I'm even listening to a white boy announcing nothin' but crap."

"Feeling the same here, Pacco," Logan spat.

The door of the office flew open and Clemmons stepped into the hallway, commanding the two guys to enter in a harsh voice, before going inside again as well. A tense silence hung in the air as soon as the two trouble-makers disappeared into the office.

After a minute or two, Keith was ready with the administration clerk and turned round to face his daughter. "Okay," he said, a broad smile on his face. "Ready to go home?"

Much to her own surprise, Veronica nodded. "Yeah."

She followed him outside of the school building, ignoring the few people that were walking through the hallways, into the parking lot, the car and then into the apartment, where she collapsed on the couch and let out a sigh.

Later that day, Keith took her for some furniture-shopping, where he laughed when she said that she wanted a bed with a princess theme and a unicorn carpet, and they had coffee in a tiny place called Java the Hut, and for the first time, Veronica saw a bit of herself reflected in Keith Mars.

For the first time since she'd met her father, she felt a bit connected. Maybe it wasn't going to be so bad after all – and that surprised her.  
She never really liked anyone immediately; it was strange for her to start liking someone after a day, a cup of coffee, some small-talk and friendly behaviour. But slowly, really slowly, she was beginning to like the father she'd never seen before.

As long as he didn't split, like Mom.

* * *

When the evening broke down over Neptune, the air still thick and warm, she was lying curled up in the corner of the couch while Keith was sitting in the other one, and she felt his eyes on her. She looked up, blue meeting brown, and asked, "What?", her tone only carrying a bit of annoyance.

"I'm just thinking about what a beautiful daughter I have," Keith smiled.

She snorted and looked away, her gaze fixed on the television. "Yeah, that's just wrong."

On the screen, Tom Cruise raised an eyebrow in what was supposed to be either a seducing or impressing way. She never really knew with that guy.

"I'm going to bed," Keith announced half an hour later, rising from the recliner. He stretched out a hand, as if to pat her on the head, but froze in the middle of the movement and pulled it away hesitantly. "Good night."

She returned the sentiments without taking her eyes off the TV, and moments later, she heard the door of his bedroom slam shut.

Veronica rested her head against the arm of the couch, the only light in the dark, tiny apartment coming from the flickering TV-screen and a single standing lamp next to her. She felt secure.

Tom Cruise raised his eyebrow again.

Damn those ridiculous eyebrows of his!

The sun was setting over the waves that crashed into the white sand as Veronica Mars, petite blond and new to all things Neptune, made her way towards the sea. It was a little over nine on Thursday evening and it had been a long, exhausting day – but she supposed it had been good in some way.

Since last night, she found herself feeling more comfortable around Keith; though she still didn't like the forced living situation and there were still some strains on their relationship _and_ she still didn't quite think of him as her father, she felt secure whenever she was with him. She'd learned that he was nothing like her mom. There was no liquor cabinet and she hadn't stumbled across hidden alcohol bottles in the kitchen cabinets. In the few days she'd been with him already, she hadn't once seen him enter the tiny apartment hiccupping. Yes, it was safe to say that she did trust Keith Mars to some levels in some kind of weird, un-Veronica-like way.

Veronica stretched her arms out in front of her, enjoying the last few rays of the sun that was currently sinking into the blue sea and turned round, ploughing her way through the soft sand of the beach.  
Time to go back.

As soon as she knocked on the door of the apartment, it flew open, revealing a worried-looking Keith.

"Here you are!" was the first thing he said. She walked past him and dropped her bag next to the couch, turning round to face Keith.

"Where were you?"

Veronica raised her eyebrows. "What? No, "Welcome back, honey!", or something like that? You've wounded me."

When she noticed the stern look he was giving her, she let out a sigh and placed her hands in her sides. "I was at the beach."

"I told you not to go away, Veronica." Keith replied, with a faint air of mild desperation.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Veronica responded coldly, and at the same time trying not to sound completely insincere. "I guess I didn't hear you… or something."

"I told you trice!" Keith shot back indignantly, still standing in front of her.

She went with a hand through her blond hair and bit her bottom lip. "Yeeeah, I sometimes have a kind of selective hearing."

Her father let out a sigh. "Veronica –"

She raised her hands in mock defence. "I told you I was sorry. What do you want me to do?  
Kneel and pray for forgiveness? I'm fine, see, still have all my toes, fingers, nails. I wasn't kidnapped or murdered or attacked by a pack of wild wolves. Chill."

"That's not the point; I don't want you to go out without telling me where you are going. You're new here," Keith said through gritted teeth.

She had a feeling he was going to say more than that, and when he didn't, she crossed her arms in front of her chest and twisted her face into her best "What the hell are you talking about"-look, complete with raised eyebrow – and then it reminded her too much of Tom Cruise and she let it down again, and instead rolled her eyes.  
"Look, we can go on like this all night. Just give it a rest, seriously. I'll tell you where I'm going next time."

She started to make her way towards her bedroom, grabbing her bag from the couch and throwing Keith a tired look. "You can't control my entire life, you know."

She didn't look back as she walked into her room, threw the brown bag into a corner, after which she kicked the bottom of her closed door and swore when her toe came off worse than the woodwork.  
After collapsing on her bed, she closed her eyes.

Looked like she wasn't the only one with abandonment issues.

She waited, and waited, and waited, for sleep to come.

It took a long time.

* * *

Morning came way too soon for Veronica's taste. Her eyes flew open in a way that indicated an unusual way of waking up; today, it was because of Lianne's face haunting her normally pleasant dreams. Her heart pounding against her ribs, as though it was trying to escape her body, she let out a moan and raised an arm to turn the clock on her nightstand in her direction.

She let her head fall back on the pillow and moaned again.

School. It was stupid, pointless, irritating beyond belief that she had to go to school already. Wasn't there some kind of "My mother ran away and I'm stuck with a father I barely know"- way out of all that crap? Couldn't she ask for a few more days off? Weren't people supposed to be nice to tiny – no, petite, she corrected herself – blonde girls?

Groaning, she forced herself to get out of bed, starting by pushing the green covers off of her. As she sat on the edge of the new bed, her head in her hands, she let her feet search for the pair of jeans she'd dropped on to the clean floor the other night. After putting them and a casual T-shirt and grey hoodie on, she walked into the small bathroom that was connected with her bedroom, applied her makeup and combed her hair. If she had to go to school today, she could at least look a bit presentable.

She was yawning as she entered the living room slash kitchen slash whatever the hell it was. Keith was already up, apparently deciding to be late for work so he could – what was that? Prepare breakfast for his daughter.

How disgustingly perfect.

"Hi there," he said, his voice carrying an undertone of cheeriness. "Ready for school?"  
He'd obviously decided to gloss over the argument of last night. Not that Veronica didn't mind that, no, but she just wondered when exactly the bomb would go off. She knew things couldn't go on like this.

That didn't mean she wasn't going to enjoy it as long as it lasted, though.

"Well… Since you're asking this to a sixteen-year-old, I'm thinking you know the answer to that question," Veronica responded, and she went to sit on one of the high chairs. "But if we're going to ask each other obvious questions with obvious answers, can I ask you why exactly you're so keen on preparing breakfast for me every morning?"

Her voice sounded vaguely curious and somewhat hostile, and she hadn't said what she'd meant to.

Just when are you about to start searching my mother?

He was a sheriff, damn it. If he couldn't find her …  
She pushed the thought away.

Keith frowned. "I thought you'd like it."

"I do," she insisted, feeling a sudden rush of appreciation for Keith Mars. "Really, I do. It's just… I can do it myself; you don't have to go through all the trouble."

"I figured I had to catch up on all the times I didn't get to prepare you breakfast," Keith replied, turning back to the bacon.

Veronica opened her mouth to say something, but couldn't think of anything even remotely interesting and shut it again, watching how Keith worked.

It was strange how she could go from cold to happy when she was around him. Whenever she talked to him, the conversation almost always began with a hint of anger and iciness and ended with laughter or playful banter.  
Just one more thing to add to the list of what she appreciated about her f.a.t.h.e.r.  
The word sounded weird.  
That was all.

She tried to smile at Keith when he placed a plate in front of her.

Just about forty-five minutes later, Veronica Mars stepped out of the car that had brought her to Neptune High and took a deep breath in an attempt to clear her mind. She heaved her bag a bit higher on her shoulder and brushed her wispy bangs out of her eyes.

C'mon Veronica. You can do this.

As soon as she set foot on what she thought could be the lunch area, she felt pairs of eyes upon her. Ignoring the stares people were giving her – just one more thing she hated about high school -, she made her way towards the school building, in her hand, the schedule Keith had picked up for her yesterday. She stopped in the entrance hall, feeling completely lost.

The bell rang and slowly, teenagers entered the building, laughing and talking, one big mass of highlighted blonde girls and guys with pearly white teeth and clothes that screamed "expensive" no matter how ugly they were. Great. Just great.

Veronica shook her head and looked at her schedule. First hour – math. If there was a God, he sure didn't like her.

When a second bell rang, the students that were still in the hallway made their way to their classrooms in a hasty tempo. Veronica clenched her jaw in frustration. Where the hell was she supposed to be?

Her eyes travelled over a few of the numbers above the classroom doors. C-14, C-15 – according to the piece of paper she was holding, she had to be in E-12. Where was E-12?  
She noticed a stairway on the end of the now almost empty hall.

It was worth a try.


	5. Hello, high school hell

**Painfully Human.**

_Author's note: So – as you could all read in the A/N I posted a few days ago, I was preeeetty busy. Well – I'm proud to announce that the craziness has died, yes it has! I'm back with internet and free time and because of all said craziness I have mood swings so intense even I'm frightened of them but who cares!_

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but my H&M wardrobe, my camera and a copy of "The Devil Wears Prada" that's completely falling apart. Oh, and a certain little white pony. So what are they gonna take from me? My pants?

_(I don't own it - it being Veronica Mars)__  
_

_Poorly revised on Nov 23rd_

**Chapter Six.**

_**Previously:  
She noticed a stairway on the end of the now almost empty hall.**_

_**It was worth a try.**__**  
**_

There was a ray of cancer-causing hate searing right towards everyone she passed in the almost completely deserted hallways. And it came directly from her, Veronica.

She sighed, a deep sigh she normally only used for special occasions, but she sighed it anyway – this was a special occasion, she told herself firmly as her eyes searched for the right classroom. She was in a new school, already late for her first class and not even remotely close to arriving before the period was over. God really, really did not like her- it was proven now.

She had climbed the stairs at the end of the hallway downstairs and had reached the second floor and since that moment, hadn't really made much progress. She could feel the nerves knotting together in her stomach as she walked past doors of several classrooms, most of them filled with people, past the C's and the D's that were taped above the doors and still not finding the E-12 she needed.  
If she had been a smoker, this would've been the moment her fingers were itching for a cigarette.

"Come on!" she murmured in utter desperation. Next door. E-something. It was about time she came across an E. But still.  
She kicked the bottom of the door and swore when her toe came off worse than the woodwork. Maybe it was broken. That would certainly be a win-win situation. Could she demand an ambulance? Call 911 for a broken toe?

Veronica speeded up a bit and bit her bottom lip when pain shot through her still throbbing toe. She suddenly caught sight of number 14 and she hastened herself towards it. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door, before slowly opening it and entering. She could feel the eyes of about sixteen other people, teacher not included, on her. She smiled sheepishly to the teacher that sat behind his desk and appeared to be speechless – probably cut off mid-sentence – and said in her sweetest tone, "Hi."

Veronica inwardly cringed as she heard how fake she sounded. The people behind her snickered.

_Oh hello, high school hell._

"You're late," the teacher, a short man with a broad nose whose eyes were standing too close to each other, told her. An ugly, sixties-style shirt was stretched over his belly and his pants were too short, the ends dangling a few inches above his ankles, revealing striped socks.

Veronica tried her best to keep her face serious.

"I know," she answered. "I'm sorry."

The man uh-uhm'ed, his gaze shifting from her to the class. He ordered them to be silent – an order which, of course, everyone ignored – and then looked at her again.

"I'm new," Veronica said, replacing her bag from one shoulder to the other. "Look me up. Veronica Mars."

The guy didn't even stand up from behind his desk. He simply rummaged through his messenger bag, took out a paper and read it through, his eyebrows knitting together. "Yes, I see. I'm Mr Carter. Please take a seat."

Veronica almost rolled her eyes as she made her way towards one of the free chairs in de middle of the room, ignoring the whispers and the stares. She didn't have her books yet – only copies, but she would be damned if she was gonna use them– and therefore, did nothing whatsoever connected to math or the idiotic guy in front of the class, who was currently explaining something nobody was even listening to.

She leant back in her chair and sighed after looking at her watch. Thirty minutes left.

It was good that she had been so late.

The buzzer couldn't go soon enough, and when it went off, everyone immediately jumped up and started packing – if they hadn't done that before- and Veronica was no different. She slowly stood up, thrust her pencil – the only thing she'd taken out – back into her bag and looked round, her schedule in her hand.

It was amazing how easy one could just cease to exist in a classroom full of completely indifferent teenagers.

Not one of the giggling, talking Californian girls had even shown a sign of noticing her. Sure, Veronica'd never really been a sucker for attention, but a bit of acknowledgement would've been nice.

She had to admit it; it sucked being the new girl.

_C'mon, Veronica. You can do this. Deep breaths._

She hoisted her bag a bit higher on her shoulder before making her way towards the door. The room was slowly emptying, and the hallway was filling with people once again. Behind her, she heard the teacher yell something to the class, but his words were lost in the high-pitched voices that only teenage girls seemed to possess.

Veronica glanced down at the paper she was holding. Journalism. Woohoo.

She figured that the journalism room had to be downstairs – her schedule said Class A yadda yadda yadda -and slowly descended the stairway, ignoring the people bumping into her. She walked past the lockers, where girls in mini skirts and guys that looked like they were part of a perfume commercial – scratch that, a soda commercial, with broad smiles and high-fives - were talking animatedly, past several doors, past the girls' bathroom, until she found what she was looking for. At least she was in time, this time.  
Here she came.

She entered the classroom and blinked her eyes a few times.

Back in San Diego, the journalism room had existed out of four computers and an equal amount of desks. In Neptune High, however, the home of the Neptune Navigator, as she'd learn later that day, was the pride of the school. The classroom was bright and sunlight streamed in through the large glass windows. There were desks with computers on the sides of the room, and a big table in the middle, where currently, three giggly, tall, model-y blonde girls were, well, giggling.

Veronica's eyes searched the room for a teacher of some kind and they rested upon a woman with a dark skin tone and black, curly hair, who seemed a tad bit too old to be a student.

At that moment, the woman turned round and a smile broke down on her pretty face.

"Hi, you must be Veronica," she said, her voice cheery, her broad smile showing off her pearly whites. "Nice to finally meet you in person."

Veronica quirked an eyebrow. "Nice to know there's that much gossip going round about me."

The teacher didn't seem the least embarrassed. "I didn't mean it that way. It's a small town."

Strangely enough, Veronica understood. For the first time in well over two years, she actually accepted something without arguing about it.

And it felt good.

But maybe that was just because she was simply too uninterested to care.

"Yeah, well, whatever you heard…" Veronica continued, once again ignoring the stares her fellow students, some of which were just arriving, were giving her. She shrugged and took a deep breath. "Anyway. I have no idea what I'm doing here."

The teacher laughed softly. "Don't worry, you'll blend right in. I'm Mrs Dent. I'll get someone to show you around."

"Actually –" Veronica began, but didn't finish the sentence.

How could she tell the perfectly nice woman that she'd prefer not being shown around at all? That she'd like to remain silent and unnoticed than to actually have to mingle with all the mindless bimbo's she saw hovering around the computers like they were theirs?

Mrs Dent looked at her, her eyes slightly narrowed. She was holding a package of printing paper in her arms and was now pressing it to her chest, crossing her arms over it. "Is there something wrong?"

Veronica opened her mouth and closed it again. She looked through the room.

At the computer in the corner, there were two brunette girls chewing gum way too obviously, both of them dressed in skirts so short they could've been tube tops. Another girl was sitting on the table in the middle of the room, her bare legs dangling off the edge, her high-heeled sandals on the floor. There were a few guys working at the computers on the right side of the classroom and another one was leaning over a few photographs, discussing them with a petite girl that had a Gucci logo tote slung over her shoulder.

Every single one of them looked like they worked at some kind of glossy magazine.

_Shudder._

"No, it's just- nothing." Veronica answered the question. "I just –I don't really need showing around... much… I'll get the hang of it, I'm sure."

"Well, okay, if that's what you prefer –" Mrs Dent said slowly.

_Yes. It is. It is, it is, it is._

"- then you could just get over to…"

The teacher's brown eyes scanned the room. She clacked her tongue and pointed at a group of people at one of the computers on the left. "There. That's Duncan Kane. He's the editor around here."

Veronica, who'd turned round to look at the guy, spun round again and raised her hands. "Oh, no, no, no, no, no, seriously, I'll be fine –"

"Veronica." Mrs Dent's voice left no room for negotiation.

Forgetting for a second that she wasn't talking to Keith, but to a teacher, Veronica went on. "Seriously, I'll manage, just tell me what to do, I'm sure that guy doesn't want to –"

Mrs Dent took place behind her desk and didn't bother to look up again when she said, "I'm telling you to go over to him and ask around a bit. He's a nice guy."

Veronica clenched her jaw and balled her fists next to her body. She turned round again, after letting out a deep sigh and a dramatic eye-roll, started to make her way towards the brown-haired guy that was sitting behind the computer. There were two girls leaning against the desk he was sitting at, a pretty-looking blonde and an equally pretty-looking brunette. A tall guy with blonde hair was announcing something and the people around him were laughing.

Veronica took a deep breath and stood still behind the tall, blond guy that towered above her a dumb smile on his face.

"It's brilliant, I tell you!" he claimed, but the brown-haired guy – Duncan, wasn't it? – shook his head as he snatched the paper out of the blonde's hand.

"Dick – you're supposed to write a poem. And you wrote, and I quote literally:

_Dick is my name_

_Interesting is what I am_

_Chicks are what I like_

_King of the waves is what they call me._"

The group busted out in laughter and Veronica smirked.

"Well, yeah, because it's true!" Dick stated, his voice carrying the "duh"-tone that was patented by teenage girls. "And look, it contains a hidden message."

When Duncan sent him a confused look, he rolled his blue eyes.

"Look, dude. If you take like, the first letter of each sentence, and you read them, it says like, DICK."

"Very smart, Dick. Very smart." Duncan snorted.

"Why don't you take it to the teacher, Dick?" the blond girl that had been leaning against the desk asked, her eyebrows raised as she studied her manicured nails. "I bet she'll give you an A."

Dick winked at the girl and pointed at Duncan, saying, "At least Lilly believes in me."

He stretched out an arm to lie around her shoulders, but she raised her hands defensively. "You'll wrinkle my clothes. I'd prefer to keep them wrinkle-free until lunch, thank you."

The guy stared dumbly for a few seconds, then, a large smile spread on his face and he made his way towards the teacher, and Veronica was left wondering if he really was as stupid as he appeared to be.

"You really think – "Duncan began, but Lilly cut him off.

"Nope," she answered, popping the "p", her tone light and cheery. "But who cares. It's Dick, right?"

She jumped off of the desk, pulled her mini jean skirt down and suddenly stood face to face with no one other than Veronica, who'd lost the cover of the tall, dumb guy.

Lilly narrowed her eyes. "And who are you?"

Veronica thrust her hands into the pockets of her jeans and her eyebrows travelled up her forehead. "Veronica, nice to meet you too."

If things went on like this, she was on the highway to a catfight with Lilly Whatever, who seemed like she was pretty rich and pretty popular.

Things just couldn't go well.

"Oh yeah. You're the new girl." Lilly said, her eyes twinkling with something Veronica couldn't quite place. She didn't like the way the girl pronounced the words "new girl", as if it was a nickname.

"Got a problem with that?" Veronica shot back.

The leggy brunette that was currently sitting on the desk, gasped – horror!

Lilly smiled widely, showing off a dozen of perfect white teeth before she moved forward like a piranha. "Chill out a bit, new girl. Geez. Keep your wig on."

The brunette snorted and Duncan stared at the blonde in awe.

Veronica wondered if he was her boyfriend.

At that moment, the door of the journalism room flew open. Everybody turned to look at who was there, and Mrs Dent stood up from her chair, her hands on her hips, glaring angrily. Dick, who'd been standing next to her desk, took a step back.

"Logan. You're, once again, late." Dent called out.

Veronica recognized the guy with the brown hair and blonde tips that had just entered as the one that had been sitting in the waiting room when she and Keith had came to meet Clemmons. He'd been all Snark Fest with the Mexican guy.

"I was… occupied." Logan replied amusedly.

Mrs Dent turned back to the file on her desk, crossing out several things with a red marker. "I hope you've went to get a note."

Logan opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by some shouting coming from behind the open windows. Veronica looked over her shoulder.

From the classroom, they had perfect sight of the parking lot. A large, yellow – why yellow? – car was parked in the middle, right in view of everyone. A guy with longish brown hair was standing, his hands deep in the pockets of his custom cut jeans. "Logan!" the guy yelled. "I'm going now!"

Logan raised a hand and nodded, a smile on his face.

When Mrs Dent looked up at him questioningly, he shrugged. "Friend of mine."

The teacher rolled her eyes. "Just get to work, please." She pointed with her ballpoint pen to the group of Queen Lilly and co.

Logan grinned, and Veronica was surprised about how at ease he seemed to be with acting like he was God's gift to the human race. He walked up to them, kissed Lilly on the cheek, did a semi- gangsta handshake with Duncan and raised his thumb to Dick, who was still standing next to Mrs Dent.

"What's he doing?" Logan asked while searching something in a pile of papers on Duncan's desk.

Duncan looked at him before rubbing his hands over his eyes – clearly, it pained him to speak the following words. "He wrote a poem."

Veronica had a hard time figuring the people out. Lilly, who'd been on the edge of starting a food-fight (low fat, of course) with her, had ignored her after one comment (or maybe that had to do with the arrival of the blonde-tipped Logan whatshisname). Although everyone talked about Dick behind his back, they did seem to like him. Logan carried the attitude of someone with a lot of money and an ego the size of Texas – and for some reason Veronica didn't doubt any of those impressions were untrue.

Nobody had threatened her yet, even though she was new and standing among them, who probably were a few of the richest or most popular students on campus.

That was new. But for what it was worth, they hadn't really talked to her either.

Her chances on a new BFF on her first day at school might not be slimming with each passing second. Imagine that.

"Veronica," the voice of Mrs Dent called out. Veronica turned round, her bag still hanging from her shoulder, her mouth half-open in anticipation of what was to come.

"Yeah?" she called back.

The teacher held out a few papers. "I need this to be copied. Could you do it, please?"

Veronica closed her eyes for a second, silently thanking the woman for rescuing her. "Of course," she answered. She walked over to the desk and took the papers. They appeared to be old articles. Then, a new problem came to mind.

"I don't know where –" she blurted out, but Dent shook her head and yelled, "Lilly! Show Veronica where the copier is!"

Lilly went through her long, blond hair with a neatly manicured hand. Veronica would find out later that those brand-name highlights cost a thousand dollars to maintain a year, and that others in the know were able to identify the salon by just one look at the finished product.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Dent," Lilly all but crooned. She grabbed a file from Duncan's desk and held it up. "I was just going to the gym to interview people for our poll."

The teacher rolled her eyes. "Fine; Logan, you go."  
Logan looked up from whatever he was discussing with Duncan; when his eyes fell upon Veronica, she only saw confusion, and then her new-girl status came rushing back.

Oh yes, she was feeling the love.

Veronica turned back to the teacher and for a second, looked at the ceiling, as in a prayer. Why, oh why, did Dent have to ask Logan? She was fairly certain that he wouldn't like her no matter what she said or did and frankly, she couldn't really care less – but still, it would be nice if not everyone around disliked her already.

She wasn't one to obsess over her image or first impressions, and she wasn't going to do her best to get everybody to like her – but if she had to endure high school hell all by herself, chances were she was going to end up screaming for attention – that, or turning into an emo.

She clenched her jaw when she saw Dent was serious, looked over her shoulder and saw that Logan was slowly approaching her – she recognized him from somewhere, vaguely. She didn't wait until he caught up with her and immediately walked out of the classroom. Last thing she heard before she closed the door, was Dick's shouting of, "- look, it spells my name –"

Veronica made her way through the hallway. For a minute – a glorious minute – she thought Logan wasn't going to come with her – and she was completely fine with that thought – but then, she heard footsteps approaching.

She turned round, her hands deep in the pockets of her jeans, her bag (why hadn't she taken it off yet?) dangling from her shoulder. "Look. I'm pretty sure I can find the copy machine alone. You can go back inside."

Logan – another guy that towered out above her – looked her up and down, and she felt like she was being looked through.

"I think it would be in my best interest if I did what dearest Mrs Dent asked me to." Logan shrugged. "Besides – normally, blondes really do love me, you know. You'll like me. I'm lovable."

"Clearly, what we're dealing with here is a failure to communicate." Veronica shot back. "I was being nice and sensitive and trying to help you get back to your friends instead of actually doing what the teacher asked you to."

Obviously, she'd been right about the never-liking-no-matter-what-part. She didn't particularly like him either. He had a decent face and body and probably enough money to buy a poor East- European country, but there was something about his attitude that made her throw up inside her mouth.

"Now, now. Teachers are people too. Pathetic, unfulfilled people who couldn't cut it in their fields, but people nonetheless." Logan replied cheekily. "I can't help it that they take a liking towards me."

"Have you tried purchasing your grade? Might spare you a lot of trouble." Veronica responded as she started to walk through the hallway again, hopefully in the right direction.

"Hey, hey, hey," she heard Logan call out from behind her, and he was speeding up to keep up with her. "Look, chill. We got off on a way too snarky snark way. I'm Logan Echolls."

The way he said his name sounded like she was supposed to recognize it.

"And I'm supposed to know you in what way?" Veronica asked slowly. Logan pulled her by the arm, into an office with a copier. Found it. Hurray.

"You don't," the guy answered, perhaps a bit too quickly. "But you – you're the daughter of Keith Mars, aren't you?"

"Looks like I have a reputation that precedes me," Veronica replied as she placed the papers in the copier and rattled her fingers against the machine.

She noticed a flash of yellow through the window; upon looking closer, she realized it was the yellow thing in the parking lot.

"That your car outside?" she asked, nodding at it whilst leaning against the copy machine nonchalantly.

They both looked out of the window.  
"Yeah, it's mine." Logan answered, his eyebrows raised, a hint of pride sounding through his voice.  
"Well, you know what they say about guys with big cars…" Veronica continued, her brow furrowed before she raised her eyebrows at him in return. "They're very little someplace else."

He tilted his head backwards and laughed silently. He turned back to her then and pushed the copy button – apparently she'd forgotten it. She felt a blush creep up her cheeks. Great. As if she hadn't been feeling stupid enough.

"That was almost… a stab. But don't worry; I don't take semi-stabs from inch-high blonde girls serious." His voice suddenly pulled her out of her thoughts.

Veronica narrowed her eyes at him.

_A/N: Nobody ever called Dick "king of the waves"...__Thanks to the brilliant people of that even more brilliant site for coming up with that brilliant poem. I can't remember the name of the site, but I'm crediting to them anyway. See! Don't sue a poor fanfic writer!  
An update, yaaaay! I'm satisfied with almost everything in this chapter. I hope you enjoy it – I had a hard time writing it, and it took some time, but it's long(er) than the previous chapters and I'm on time, so hurray!_

_Stay tuned for the next update, and enjoy (I feel like a broken record)_


	6. Long walks, love 'em

**Painfully Human.**

_Author's note: Hey you guys, what's up? I'm so, so sorry about how long it took for me to update; school, life, demanding friends and all that, y'know.  
I have also bought an iPod shuffle. I thought it was important that I put it here._

_Poorly revised Nov 23rd_

* * *

**Chapter Six**

_**Previously:  
She narrowed her eyes at him.**_

"Well, isn't that nice of you," Veronica shot back sweetly. "I feel so flattered now."

She pulled the paper out of the copier and sneaked past him, out of the small room and into the hallway.

"You know, being nice doesn't actually cause physical pain." Logan called out after her as he fastened his pace.

Veronica did the same; she was _this_ close to running. "Says you."

"But I'm Logan Echolls, and I'm here to convince you that my way of thinking really is the best," Logan replied. She was sure that he was smirking right now.

Tired of the game they were playing, she turned round and asked in an exasperated voice, her hands on her hips: "What's on your mind, Logan, of you don't mind the overstatement?"

"Well, first of all, I thought we could do the whole walking thing without you running out in front of me," the guy's answer came. "Let's make this a nice, long walk, shall we?"

Veronica smiled so widely she was sure he could see her wisdom teeth. "I love long walks!" she told him, her voice high and girly. Oh yes, biting sarcasm, ten o'clock. "Especially," she continued, clasping her hands together, "_Especially_ when they're taken by people who annoy me."

She turned on her heels and started to make her way to the classroom again, leaving her snarky peer behind; and she did not notice his slight smirk, nor his expression of both annoyance and amusement.

The rest of the hour flew; and the hour after that, and the one after that; luckily, journalism was the only class Veronica knew of so far when she was forced to be in the same room with the blond queen, Lilly, and her particularly brainless followers – Dick, "_Dick is my name_"- Dick included – and of course, the king of Annoying Conversations, Logan.

And then it was lunch time and Veronica cursed her new girl status again. For one of the first times, she longed for her friends back in San Diego, even the giggly and overly active Carrie.

_Damn_was all that came up in her mind as she stood, her tray with food in her hands, outside of the school building.

Students were all over the school grounds; most of them were grouped at the benches; some were sitting on the concrete steps of the stairs that led to a platform, others simply sat on the ground. As Veronica let her eyes dart over the view in front of her, she noticed the group of Logan sitting at one of the tables under a large red sunshade, while the bench already stood in the shadow. They were eating pizza; Veronica wondered why she had to eat something that fell under the generous umbrella of chicken – which she didn't quite believe – and they could have take-out.

She repeated, _damnit._

Finally, she spotted an empty table and hastily made her way towards it, only slowing down as not to spill anything. As she sat, she let out a long sigh. Mission accomplished.

Or maybe not.

"You must be new," a voice Veronica didn't recognize said, and the question was clearly aimed at her. She looked up, blinking several times because of the bright Californian sun, and then came to the conclusion that the questioner was a guy she had noticed in one of her classes before.

He was tall, black, and with afro-like hair. He wore a green polo shirt and a pair of loose jeans and right now, he was staring down at her.

She blinked again to focus her vision. "And you are?" she asked cheekily. A voice inside her screamed _No_! over and over again – she was smashing in her own windows by being rude to everybody. It was the first statement on the list of "What you shouldn't do on your first day at school", she was sure of it.

Ah well.

The guy smiled; Veronica could see his white teeth, and silently decided to lay off of him for a while. After all, he was the first one to act, if only a bit, nice to her, and she could use nice people.

That, and he reminded her of one of her friends back in San Diego.

"The name's Wallace Fennell, and from what I've heard, _you_ must be Veronica Mars." he replied, and he stuck out his hand. She shook it.

"Word travels fast," Wallace said when he noticed the puzzled expression on her face.

"Funny guy, that Word." Veronica responded to him, and she turned back to her plate and stuck her fork into a sticky bunch of something.

Wallace let out a nervous chuckle.

Veronica looked up at him; blue eyes met brown. He seemed nice enough; she wasn't one to like people easily, but she wasn't going to be picky today.

"So, what else have you heard about me?" she asked him, propping her elbows on the table and resting her chin in her hands.

"Um, not much," his answer came weakly. "Just, well, you know, the obvious…"

She raised a brow. "And that is?"

He let out a sigh and stretched his arms out in front of him, pushing his own tray away. "That you're the daughter of the Sheriff."

"And?" Veronica questioned.

"That you don't know when to keep your mouth shut?" Wallace said uncertainly. When she glared at him, he shrugged and said, "Look, I don't know nothing about you, alright? I prefer to get to know people before I judge them."

"How very noble of you," Veronica mumbled as she shoved her food aside. "I'm flattered."

"You better be," Wallace replied in fake seriousness; he took an orange out of his backpack and started to peel it.

Veronica just stared over his shoulder; something had caught her eye.

The Mexican guy she had seen at the principle's office when she was there with Keith, was standing next to Logan, who had risen too. They were almost nose to nose and the leather-clad student was saying something. Veronica was watching, feeling a mixture of fascination and disgust – she blamed Logan for that – and when Wallace noticed that she wasn't looking at him, he looked over his shoulder.

"You checking out Logan Echolls?"

"What? God, no!" Veronica answered immediately. "Are you out of your mind? Of course not."

Wallace wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "They all say that."

"Oh, shut up," Veronica's reply came. Although she had meant for it to sound threathening, she couldn't help but smile a bit.

"I don't like him," Wallace continued cheerfully, as if he was making a comment about the weather. "He just walks around bragging about how many girls he can have and how rich he is."

Veronica looked at his face. "And that's why the leather-loving kid is looking at him like he wants to smash his face in?"

Wallace shrugged again. "Nah." He bent over to her secretively; she found herself doing the same to him.

"Logan's girlfriend cheated on him with Weevil," Wallace whispered into her ear. Veronica's eyes flashed back to the platform, where Logan and the Mexican she assumed was Weevil were still involved in a let's-stare-each-other-to-death match.

"Wow," she stated. "Heavy."

"They've been at each other's throats for the last four months." Wallace told her, holding up four fingers to illustrate his story. "And with those guys, one of these days something's bound to happen." He rubbed his hands excitedly. "His daddy won't be pleased with that."

"And you are happy about that because…" That was Veronica.

The guy stared at her. "Because he's a jerk, completely disrespectful to anyone but his own kind, annoying and intrusive, a spoiled rich brat and because everyone loves him just because his father's Aaron Echolls?"

"His father's Aaron Echolls?" Veronica reacted.

Of course! Why hadn't she thought of that before?

"The one and only," Wallace nodded and he took a bite of the fruit in his hands. "You know all about him, I suppose."

She held up her hands in mock surrender. "Hey, all I know about that guy is that, if you're talking about a great actor, you're not talking about Aaron Echolls."

The black guy on the other side of the table snorted and she smiled softly. Her eyes wandered off to the crowded table she could see from behind Wallace's shoulder. Weevil had left and Logan was sitting again, shooting someone Veronica already know was his trademark smirk, and then he picked up another pizza slice.

"He's also that guy from _The Breaking Point_ and _Beyond the Breaking Point_." Wallace informed her.

"I knew that. I might not be a fan like you, but I do know which movies that silly excuse for an actor starred in." Veronica shot back at him playfully.

"Yo, I'm not a fan!" Wallace protested. "All I'm saying is, that that film cost 31,000,000. I could've invaded some kind of country with that amount of money."

Veronica patted his hand. "Shh. It's okay, my boy."

"So I'm your boy now?" her new friend said with a wide smile that seemed to split his face into two. "I'm making progress."

Veronica laughed, the first laugh she had let out today. She had to admit it; being around Wallace felt pretty good. She didn't know him and they hadn't exactly been talking about their greatest life secrets, but she had left her class feeling like she could punch someone out and she would be returning feeling lighter than she had felt in the past few days.

As the buzzer went, Wallace showed her where she could dump her plate and they walked into the school together.

"What have you got now?" he asked her. They were standing next to the locker that, apparently, was Veronica's. She took a quick peek at her schedule while she placed a few of her books carefully inside her locker, and then slammed the little door shut. "English." she said.

"Well, have fun with that," he said rubbing his hands together. "Mr Daniels will probably grill you for the first twenty minutes."

"And this is why we all love school!" Veronica said in a sing-song voice, hoisting her bag higher up her shoulder. She shot a nasty look at someone who intentionally bumped into her, a guy with a backpack of Billabong.

Wallace patted her shoulder. "I'm off to Bio. You wanna hang around after school? I could show you the town?"

She bit on her bottom lip. "I'm sorry, I can't," she said slowly, and she meant it. She did regret it; but Keith had told her that her stuff and clothes and all that would be arriving this evening and she didn't want him nosing through her personal belongings. "I – it's just that I have to be home tonight."

"Alright, well, some other time, then." The guy responded. With one last wave of his hand, he disappeared into the crowd.

Veronica had a strong feeling that he had been lonely for a long time.

**A/N.** Not too long, but it's an update. Love it? Hate it? Liked Wallace? I just thought I had to include the guy. As for next chapter: Lilly! Logan! Adrenaline rush! Weevil! Keith and the first steps into… (picture one of those wriggly-eyebrow emoticons here) the case of Lianne Mars.

Thanks for reading, I hope you tell me what you thought, and sorry for the delay!


	7. You might wanna rewatch the classics

**Painfully Human.**

_Thanks for sticking with me so far!_

_Disclaimer: __Not mine, sadly enough._

* * *

_**Chapter Six**_

_**Previously:  
Veronica watched him pass her on his way to the parking lot and bit on her bottom lip. Deciding she really didn't have another choice, she followed him, her bag dangling from her shoulder.**_

"So, they didn't rummage through my stuff, did they?" Veronica asked.

She was standing on her tiptoes, trying to place a box full of old schoolbooks on the highest shelve.

Her stuff had finally arrived; clothes, books, CD's, everything, and now they were busy unpacking things and throwing away useless crap. She had discovered that she had many things that belonged in that second category.

Keith made a sound that could've meant anything as he entered the room with three big cardboard boxes in his arms. Veronica looked to the side to watch him as he dropped them on to her unmade bed and wiped sweat off his brow.

She rolled back on to her heels, placed her hands on her hips, unsure of what to do with them as a question was beginning to raise in the back of her head.

Carefully, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Those were things she did when she was nervous – and why was she nervous again? She didn't have any reason to be nervous. She should stop being nervous.

Keith, who wasn't aware of her behaviour, was humming quite excitedly while unpacking. Veronica could've swore she recognized the theme of some kind of sports championship.

She walked over to her father- that still sounded funny- and opened a box herself, but wasn't really concentrating on the intents. Fleetingly, vaguely, she felt the soft fabric of cashmere sweaters and the rough texture of what she recognized was the dark jeans her mother had bought her, but her eyes were on Keith, next to her.

Veronica wanted to scream; it wasn't so hard to ask, was it? She just had to open her mouth and speak the words. He wouldn't get mad. He couldn't. And if he did, she'd remind him he was her father, in that cheeky tone that'd gotten her into trouble at school in San Diego.

Finally gathering all her courage, she opened her mouth and began with, "Um-" when the man next to her scraped his throat.

She raised her eyebrows, and, still clutching a blue shirt in her hands, awaited his next sentence.

And it wasn't until then that she saw what he was holding.

A photo album.

Her photo album, to be exact.

Great.

She felt Keith's brown eyes on her and had to suppress the urge to roll her own eyes skywards. "If you really want to. It's nothing really special –"

Her passive-aggressive protest was cut off by him opening the album.

Veronica dropped the shirt on the bed and ran a hand through her hair, as she watched her father – would that ever sound normal, seriously? – page through pictures of her life. She studied his expression as he watched the photos, tried not to grimace when she knew he had reached the page containing pictures of her dressed up as a clown.

Somewhere, she knew this had to be some sort of a family reunion, a chance to show him what he had missed all those years. Perhaps even to tighten their bond. But she wasn't really into the family TV-show scenario that was clearly being laid out for the two of them, and she certainly wasn't planning to sit down with him and tell him endless stories about the when-where-who-what's, the stories behind the photographs.

Keith let out a soft chuckle, and Veronica couldn't help but to be curious. He seemed to sense that – sheriffs were annoying when it came to the whole sensing thing – and turned a bit to show her.

It was a picture of a seven year old her and Lianne, sitting on one of those stupid mechanical horses you often find outside of supermarkets. Veronica's hair was pulled into two ponytails, blond ringlets falling loosely over her shoulders, the pink sundress she was wearing reaching her knees. Her mother had shoved her black sunglasses on the top of her head, over her own blond hair, and they were both smiling.

Veronica's expression darkened as she thought back about those days.

"You look so happy," Keith's voice suddenly said, and Veronica was dragged back to the real world. She didn't know where to look, felt the piercing gaze on her, so instead of facing him, she blindly grabbed another clothing piece out of the box on the bed, and started piling them up.

"Yeah, well, that's before she discovered booze."

It came out before she knew, and to her surprise and horror, it sounded way more bitter than it had sounded in her head.

There hung a silence.

"I'm s-"

"Don't," Veronica cut him off warningly, not looking up from the pile of clothes she was now holding. She walked over to her new dresser and dumped the fiery reds and deep blues and apple greens on to a shelve. "It doesn't matter anymore, does it?"

Keith had walked up next to her, pretending to be placing the few dresses she had on to hangers. There wasn't any sound except for the clicking of the hangers.

"If you ever want to talk about it…" his voice came, soft and careful.

Click, click, click.

Veronica, who had been straightening a white, button-down shirt, stiffened. She fought the urge to slam something into him.

She let go of the shirt and turned to face him.

"You know what? No. Just – no. You probably mean this in a good way, but no thanks. If you expected me to open up to you, to share whatever's on my mind with a complete stranger, you're seriously mistaken."

Auwtch. Cold Veronica was back.

"Veronica –" Keith tried, but she didn't let him finish. If she had, she might've noticed how his voice was beginning to raise.

"I can't stand this! I have known of your existence for four days! Did you know that there's social workers out there who haven't gotten a word out of me in years? So you're my father, but I don't know you –"

"I am sorry that I wasn't there for you before, Veronica, as I have told you several times, but it's a bit too late to change that now. And for your information, if you had perhaps tried to listen to what I've been saying, you would've known by now that it wasn't exactly my choice to lose you. I have explained already that this mightn't be pleasant for you, but that I am all you have right now –"

"Oh yeah, because you aren't head of a Balboa County sheriff's department and you can't exactly search my mother, can you?"

They were both shouting by this point, Veronica furiously, with the shirt crumpled in her balled hand while Keith kept raising her voice to be heard over her yelling.

"And what if I found her? You'd go back to live with her, knowing that she could disappear again at any moment, knowing that she's a drunk?"

Oh, logical reasoning. It was sad, really, that Veronica didn't feel like thinking logically.

"As if I didn't know before! It's not hard to notice how your refrigerator contains nothing but beer and your kitchen cabinets are stacked with scotch. And that's only the kitchen. Trust me, I've known since I was nine."

"And you would go, you would willingly go back to that?" Keith asked her.

She stared at him for a second. "What, am I supposed to stay here with you for the rest of my life? In a school where everybody looks at me and says, "Oh god, you're the daughter of the sheriff, didn't you disappear x number of years ago?" Is that the life you want for me?"

They were both breathing heavily, chests raising and falling in an upbeat tempo, Veronica's throat was raw from yelling.

"Look, Veronica. I want you to be safe. You're not safe when you're with your mother." Said Keith, suddenly sounding very calm. He went right back to sorting hangers.

"Says who?" Veronica scampered, throwing the now completely crumbled shirt into her dresser.

Keith didn't look up. "Don't be so childish."

"'Cause I'm the one who wanted to have a shouting match in my bedroom, right?" Veronica's response came right back, in its signature witty-and-clever-mode.

Keith rolled his eyes.

"Okay look," he then said, after a minute or two of silence. "This isn't working."

"At all," Veronica supplied.

He ignored her. "I am not going to send you back to your mother. I know my rights. I could even sue Lianne for taking off with you. I've had to pull quite a few strings to allow you to stay here and I'm not going to give up on that."

It was Veronica's turn to roll her eyes. "Is there actually a point to this?" she asked sweetly, brushing the hair out of her face.

Keith turned out to be very good at ignoring her.

"I will look for your mother, but only if you promise –"

Her head had gone up in the air, a sign that she wasn't approving.

Ignore, ignore, ignore.

"Only if you promise to start over, okay? Get rid of _that I feel better than you and I'll prove it –_ smart mouth thing you've got going on. Alright?"

"I don't feel better –" Veronica began, but her father – yeah, it would never get better – shook his head and held up a hand.

She rolled her eyes impatiently and agreed.

"Good." Keith said, a tone of happiness laced into his voice. He left the hangers and the three dresses for what they were and made his way towards the door. "You can handle the rest, I guess."

Veronica nodded; she walked over to the boxes on the bed and bent over them again, stretching out a hand-

"And Veronica…"

And that brought the count of how many times he'd said her name to say to two hundred.

She looked up, blond streaks of hair falling in front of her eyes. "Yeah?"

"I might not be your father, but you are my daughter." Keith replied, standing still in the doorway, one hand resting upon the doorknob.

She shot him a strange look as she slowly stood upright. "You do know that it's, "Luke, I am your father", right?" she asked him, a grin forming on her face, and she twisted her voice to sound like Darth Vader's.

Typical Veronica way to deal with statements that held a whole crapload of emotions.

Keith smiled. "I'm not interested in going.. how do you young people say that… goth?"

Veronica chuckled. "You should go on Oprah. The people will love your emotional declarations."

"They will love me," Keith exclaimed seriously. Veronica let out a soft laugh, followed by a, "Ha!" before she bent over the brown, cardboard boxes again.

Her relationship with Keith Mars, no matter how little she knew him, was certainly one of a kind.

* * *

She spent the rest of the day unpacking, and when she got to bed, she still felt a strange feeling of appreciation for the man that was supposed to have been her father all along.  
When she woke up, Keith had already taken off to work.

With little, sleepy eyes, dressed in her plain black pyjama bottoms and an old shirt, one hand scratching in her hair, Veronica sauntered into the small living room. When she passed the table on her way to the cabinet that contained the cornflakes, she noticed the piece of paper.

She reached for it with her fingertips and held it close to read the apparently hastily scribbled note.

_Veronica-_

_There was an emergency at work. You know where everything is, take whatever you want. There's a bus going to school at 08.15; it'll pick you up right outside the house._

_Don't get into any trouble._

_Keith._

"I never get into any trouble," Veronica grumbled to herself, silently, as she crumpled the note in her hand and tossed it into the garbage, but she couldn't help the smile forming on her face.

She went to sit on the counter, so she could reach the cabinet above it more easily, and allowed her hand to travel through it. It came in contact with something sleek and iron, and, always the curious one, she took it out and stared at it.

A dog's food tray?

She hadn't seen a dog around.

"Keith Mars, you continue to surprise me," she spoke out loud, holding the tray in both hands before placing it back where it belonged. She had a new question to ask him.

After eating breakfast – still sitting on the counter, because she had found a half-filled brick of milk there – she made her way towards her room and put on the first clothes she found.

By the time the alarm clock on her new nightstand said it was 08.12, she had finished applying the little makeup she always wore and when the numbers changed to 08.14, she grabbed her bag, hastened herself out of the apartment, down the flight of stairs and on to the street.

And then, she cursed the black pants she had put on, because it was burning outside.

The bus arrived after a few minutes; Veronica hopped in, already feeling sweaty and warm, shot the bus driver a glare – he kept staring at her – and made her way to an empty seat.

She felt pairs of eyes on her as she nestled herself deeper into the seat and quirked an eyebrow at a girl with fiery red hair, who sat on the other side of the aisle. She was just about to say something when the redhead, dressed in a skirt so short it was simply vulgar, turned away to talk to her equally trampy-dressed friend next to her.

Veronica sighed. She rested her head against the back of the hideously spotted seat and closed her eyes, figuring that she would notice when the ride came to an end.

She hated school busses. Hated, hated, hated them.

"Neptune High, here I come again." she mumbled – she seemed to be talking a lot to herself lately – inarticulately.

_**TBC. And I don't mean the disease.**_


	8. Who let the dog out?

**Painfully Human.**

**Don't own anything, so don't sue, 'lright?**

Revised Nov 23d

Previously:

"_**Neptune High, here I come again." She mumbled – she seemed to be talking a lot to herself lately – inarticulately.**_

* * *

**Chapter ****Eight**

The next week passed in what seemed like a breath. By the time Saturday came around, Veronica found herself buried underneath the amount of homework her teachers had been giving her – she suspected that they were doing it on purpose, just because she was new – and the cardboard boxes that still kept arriving were yet to be unpacked. Veronica had stashed them in a corner of her room, but when the boxes began to increase in number and the unsteady tower kept growing, she decided it was time to undertake some action.

Of course, that was without including the sudden burst of procrastination she seemed to be dealing with lately; and that was immediately the reason as to why she found herself in her room, the curtains drawn wide open to allow a bit of sunlight to enter, on a regular Saturday afternoon.

Veronica stood in front of the tower of brown, square boxes, a tower that now reached until some point above her own head. She let out a sigh and pressed a hand against her temple, willing her whining headache to pass by.

Rolling back and forth on the balls of her feet, she kept staring up at the towering pile of orange-y brown.

"Come on, Veronica." She spoke out loud, as if the sound could make her want to begin. "If you start now, you'll be done by four."

Her eyes darted down to her wrist, where her watch was, and she almost let out another sigh of desperation when she noted it was only one.

_Come on, come on, come on, come on. Start already. _

What was with her today?

Veronica finally managed to pull herself out of her dream-like state, dragged the chair that stood next to her new desk in front of the boxes and jumped on to it, taking the box on top into her arms.

Why the hell did Keith decide it would've been a good idea to stack box upon box? Logical thinking definitely wasn't his forte.

She enjoyed herself with these semi-malicious thoughts for a while, while she ripped open tape with a pair of old scissors she'd found in the kitchen cabinet, unpacked and sorted clothes and other stuff. Contents of her old desk drawers went into the pile of crap on her left side. The picture of her and her friend Katie that'd apparently been ripped off the notice board that'd hung above her bed earned a place on the "keep" pile on her right. And so she went on for minutes, hours, taking boxes off the pile whenever its precedent was empty of substance.

Veronica felt the muscles in her legs protest when she limped up from her position on the floor. A quick glance on her watch told her that it was a little past three. For some strange reason, she felt impossibly satisfied when she carried the empty boxes, two by two, out of her room and into the living room, where she placed them next to the door, practically barricading the entrance. Afterwards, she wiped off her sweaty hands on the pair of dark jeans she was wearing and sauntered over to the fridge to get a soda.

At moments like this, she felt at ease. Keith was at the sheriff's station handling old report files – even though it was Saturday, but she figured every guy could have his hobby – and she was alone. She could do whatever she wanted without having a pair of brown eyes following her every step.

Veronica brushed a blonde hair off of her black tank top and re-did her low ponytail, the can of Coke placed upon the counter. She flexed her strained arms, rolled her shoulders, shook her head, tried to get her body to feel like it was _awake_ instead of zombie-like. She took the can into her hands again, and went over to the grey couch, dropping herself on to the soft material of the fluffy pillows.

And now, she officially didn't know what to do.

Veronica looked around, her fingers rattling against the armrest of the couch, making a soft noise to disturb the solid silence that hung around the apartment. Her eyes were scanning the room, searching for something, anything, to do.

She still couldn't understand that Keith didn't own a computer. According to him, it had no value, no worth, to him, he couldn't do anything with it. She refused to believe that. He was a sheriff. He had to have, at least, an email account. Her fingers were itching to check her own mailbox, something she hadn't done in a little over a week, now. She'd tried when she was in class, but the teacher had given her a pointed look and she'd immediately clicked away, giving the man a sugary sweet smile.

But alas, no computer as far as she could see. She sighed, frustrated, when her eye fell upon the black, wireless telephone that sat on the stand next to the couch.

She almost smiled at the sight of it, stretched out a white hand and her fingers enclosed around the smooth plastic.

Veronica hadn't called _anyone_ since her arrival. The cell phone that she used to have stopped working right before her mother disappeared, and she hadn't exactly had money to buy a new one. As she sat there, the phone in her hands, she figured she had a right to make a few phone calls.

Eagerly, her fingers moved over the number buttons, punching in the digits, and Veronica propped the phone between her ear and shoulder, studied her nails with one hand and took the Coke in her other. It opened with a soft "click".

The phone rang, once, twice. Veronica took the telephone into her hand again, her nails scratching over her itchy temple in the process. She cursed the headache that was still pounding inside her head.

Then, suddenly, there was a rustling noise followed by a hoarse, scratchy voice that said, "Hello?" in a rather unfriendly manner. Veronica immediately recognized it as Kaitlin, the dark-haired girl she'd known since she was twelve, the girl of the picture that was now laying on her bedroom floor.

"Katie, it's Veronica." Veronica replied, her eyebrows raised at her friend's raspy tone. She had an idea that her friend was only just awake.

The history between her and the girl with the dark brown, short-chopped hair was long and not exactly the easiest of all. Most of the time, they got along well, but sometimes there were fights that didn't even deserve the word fight, because they were so much bigger than a simple argument. The relationship between Veronica and Kaitlin Brown could easily be called problematic. Kaitlin liked to go out, have fun and smoke a pack of cigarettes a day, whereas Veronica often had to stay at home to make sure her mother didn't do something stupid.

Veronica's face tightened when she remembered the time that Katie had called her in the middle of the night, screaming at the top of her lungs to be heard over the sound of the blaring music, to tell her that her mom was in the same club as she was, before beginning to laugh hysterically because it was "so funny to see your mother make an attempt to binge-drinking".

She shrugged the memory off and forced herself to answer her friend, who was asking her all kinds of questions now.

"Where _have you been_, V? Been trying to call you for days, and you haven't answered any of my emails."

The rant was interrupted by a raspy cough, followed by a short silence and an intake of breath that told Veronica that Katie was inhaling a cigarette.

"Turns out I have a father I never knew about," Veronica answered, as she placed her feet on the brown coffee table in front of her, absent-minded. "I'm in his apartment in Neptune."

Silence. Release of smoke. She could hear Katie's breathing.

"Still there?" she asked, one hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear.

"Yeah. I'm just - yeah. When are you coming back?" the girl on the other end of the line spoke.

"Don't know," Veronica responded truthfully. "Until they've –"

She stopped in time, correcting herself. She didn't want Kaitlin to know that her mother had disappeared. Knowing her, the rumour would be spread through the entire school in a matter of minutes, and if Veronica returned- no, she told herself, she would return, it was a "when", not an "if" – she didn't feel like meeting everybody's curious gaze.

"Um, yeah, I don't know." She finished the sentence.

Inhalation.

"Okay, yeah, whatever. You've missed a lot." Katie continued, apparently not even aware of the overall tone of "don't care" that was laced through her voice. "You know that new girl, Alexis whatever? Got kicked out of school two days ago. Drugs."

Veronica didn't see why she should care about a girl she didn't know that got thrown off of school, but faked an interested tone and tilted her head to the side as she answered. "Oh really?"

"Yep. And Adam's had an accident with his daddy's car. He's still in the hospital, concussion of some kind."

Veronica heard the sound of another cigarette leaving its package. A lighter was put on.

"Well, knowing him he'll be right back on his feet in no time," she said. She looked down on her feet, which were still resting upon the edge of the low table. She wriggled her toes.

"It's just Adam. 's not like anyone at school's gonna miss him."

"Pretty insensitive, Katie."

"I take it back. Perhaps that tall black bitch that's been hangin' 'round him for weeks with her tongue stuck in his throat would cry. But who cares 'bout her, right?"

"Still bitter about the break-up?" Veronica shot at her in a sing-song voice. Katie snorted.

"Yeah right. I'm glad to be rid of him. So what's life like where you are? Made any friends?"

"They're all stuck-up rich kids if you ask me." Veronica sighed. "You should see their houses. I bet their storage room's are bigger than our school's hall."

"Where is it that you are again?"

"Neptune, California. Home of the rich and famous, and apparently, a town without a middle class." Her reply came immediately. "Some of these people never seem to leave the house without at least thirteen grand on them."

Katie laughed, a hearty laugh that, for one second, made Veronica believe that things weren't as bad as they seemed between them. Sure, it hadn't been spoken out loud, but she had been able to feel the underlying tension in Katie's words, the tension that generally meant, "_I'm going to find out what's happening and I'm going to tell everyone 'cause that's just the way I am."_

"You lost me at "rich and famous", V. Who are you talking about?" the sixteen year old asked. Veronica could practically picture her lying on her bed, twirling a lock of chin-length almost black hair around her index finger.

"There's a guy that set up this really big computer company. He invented the whole streaming video concept. It's called Kane… Kane and something else, I don't really remember. And Logan Echolls." She told her friend, bracing herself for what was to come. Because no matter how rebel-ish Katie was, she couldn't resist fame.

Ever since Wallace had helped her to connect the dots of Logan's last name and his father, she'd been curious. Curious as to how Logan being such an ass might be related to his famous father. She intended to find out.

"Logan Echolls? The son of Aaron Echolls?" Katie's voice interrupted her stream of thoughts.

"The one and only," Veronica exclaimed, finally taking her feet off the table and crossing her legs.

"And you're going to school with him?" Katie asked unbelievably.

"That's what I tried to tell you," Veronica replied.

"Holy shit. What's he like?"

"Self-centered, rich, arrogant, snarky, childish –" Veronica had to draw a breath - "irritating, sarcastic, likes to annoy people and pre-judgemental."

She just hoped that made sense.

Of course, in Katie's world, it didn't.

And so they kept talking for a while, discussing the matter of Logan Echolls and the possibilities of him actually being as annoying as Veronica claimed he was, and fifteen minutes later, Veronica felt relieved that she could hang up the phone. What was supposed to be a friendly chat had, once again, turned out in a discussion and later, into an argument. Veronica wasn't surprised.

She hadn't placed the phone back on the table for longer than a minute when there was a loud noise outside of the apartment, followed by the front door opening and about half of the cardboard boxes she'd placed there falling, so they were spread all over the floor.

Veronica rose up from the couch and felt her breath get stuck inside her throat. Lianne had never liked it when there was crap all over the place, and nor had any of the people she'd lived with temporarily. She hastened herself over to the mess and hastily began placing the boxes back on to each other.

It wasn't until now that Keith – at least, she was assuming it was Keith – could enter. She looked up to greet him, but instead of Keith Mars's face, she was staring into a pair of eyes that were, most definitely, non-human.

Veronica scrambled to get upright, mumbling "What the…" inarticulately as the dog wiggled his tail, barking loudly. Her back met the edge of the counter slash table hard and she made a face when she realized that that would leave a bruise.

But all of that was nothing, nothing, compared to the madly barking dog that was standing in front of her, his beak agape, revealing two rows of shiny, pointy teeth and a pink tongue.

"Backup, here!"

Veronica let out a small sigh of relief, which was immediately followed by anger bubbling up inside her. Add the throbbing pain in her back and ta-da, Angry Veronica – no, Pissed Off Veronica – was reborn.

Keith entered the apartment, two large grocery-bags in his arms. The keys of his car were resting on top of a brown file, which, in its turn, was placed on top of the groceries. The man made his way toward the counter and plopped the bags on to it, giving the dog a stern look. Backup, as Veronica assumed, let out a soft howl and sat down.

"This yours?" Veronica asked, wiping a few strands of blonde hair out of her face, one hand placed upon the sore spot on her back. Backup's black eyes were on her, and she wrinkled her nose at him.

"Yes, I'm sorry if he surprised you. I just opened the door when I realized I forgot the bags." Keith answered, nodding at said bags. He walked past her, patting the dog on its head in the process, dragged the groceries along with him and started placing them into the refrigerator.

"I didn't know you had a dog." she said vaguely, leaning against the wall next to the fridge. Keith didn't answer. He unpacked a six-pack of water bottles. So maybe that wasn't entirely true, but she was hoping to get some sort of reaction out of him. Failed attempt, it seemed.

There hung a silence for a couple of minutes. Veronica was watching the clock above the door. It made an annoying "tick-tack" sound.

"Is there anything else I don't know? 'Cause, you know, this is roughly the equivalent of forgetting to tell your date that you have any children. It's kinda like Jude Law in that "The Holiday" movie. Anything you need to tell me?" Veronica continued their one-sided conversation, walking over to the high chairs and sitting down. "No? No secret lover, no, _"Sorry honey, I guess I slept with the secretarian_" ?"

That seemed to be enough ridiculousness for Keith, because he looked up with raised eyebrows, holding a carton of milk, his hand frozen mid-movement. "You have very lively fantasies."

Veronica crossed her legs, placed both her hands upon her knees and fake-smiled widely. "I've been told."

Chuckle.

Silence.

The dog was panting, drooling on the floor.

"So…" she began again, uncrossing her legs and letting them dangle above the floor. "Is there anything _interesting_ to do around here?"

The man had finished unpacking and was shrugging off the beige-y brown sheriff's jacket he'd been wearing. "What do you normally do on a Saturday noon?" he asked, his tone interested and kind. The perfect example of a loving parent who cared. Veronica was momentarily stunned by the difference between him and Lianne, then shook her head and shrugged.

"I don't know. Hang with friends. Sit at home. Work."

She neglected to tell him that the whole "sit at home" concept was more to watch over her mom than for her own amusement.

Keith shot her a strange look. "You had a job?"

Veronica immediately got on the defensive, straightening her spine and narrowing her eyes. "Anything wrong with that?"

This caused him to chuckle again. He crumpled the two old-school bags in his hand and threw them into the garbage bin, placing the few things that didn't go in the fridge in the cabinets. "You just don't seem like the kind of girl that serves ice-cream to whiny children on the beach."

"Correct. I walked dogs." Her reply came.

Keith laughed out loud, now. He turned round, his hands placed in his sides. "_You_ walked _dogs_?"

"It made good money!" Veronica protested, but her father didn't stop laughing. And in the end, she found herself grinning along like some kind of mad person. Backup didn't really seem to enjoy their little bonding moment, and began barking again.

"Well, the only teenagers I see around here are the ones that are brought handcuffed to the station, so I'm afraid I have no clue as to what's considered "cool" around here." he answered her first question, still grinning softly.

Veronica groaned. "So I'm doomed to boredom for the rest of my days here?"

"You could walk Backup," Keith suggested, wriggling his eyebrows. She shot him a nasty look, an eyebrow quirked and her head tilted to a side.

Her eye fell upon the file she'd noticed earlier, and she visibly perked up. "What's that?" she questioned immediately.

She didn't get a response at first; Keith seemed uncomfortable with the subject, but she'd never been one to give up easily. Right when she opened her mouth to continue her poking and prodding, he answered.

"I've been doing some research on your mother."

Bam. The answer hit her like a car hit a brick wall.

Her curiosity was officially back in action.

"And?" Veronica asked. She wasn't surprised to hear the tense edge to her voice. Her fingers were holding a wrestling match.

Keith sighed. His eyes darted to her face, met her eyes. They were back to holding a staring competition, and then he lowered them and opened the file carefully. He turned a few pages, read one through, and then shoved the whole package over to Veronica's side of the counter. "It was filled in by a social worker," he commented.

She took it over, hesitantly at first, looked at him one more time before drawing a deep breath. Then, she began reading.

_Statement of disappearance._

Veronica frowned. Yeah, that was of much use here. Ignoring the voices in her head that were screaming "unhelpful!", she continued, skipping various parts that didn't seem of interest.

_18. With whom did he/she live at time of disappearance?  
Daughter: full name: Veronica Mars_

_19. __Status:_

_Married._

_20. Was the missing person on good terms with his or her family and acquaintances?_

_No._

She looked up and met Keith's concerned gaze.

"Why does this state that my mother's married?" Veronica asked, her voice trembling with an emotion even she didn't recognize.

"According to the law, we're still married. Technically." Keith replied, always the sheriff.

"But if that social worker knew she was still married," Veronica began slowly, her eyes back on the page, greedily taking in every ounce of information she could get, "Then he must've known your name too, right?"

Hesitation. Then – "Yes."

"You said you were searching for us since the day we disappeared," Veronica continued, her voice trembling even more now, with anger, frustration, disbelief.

"I was, but –"

"If a _social worker_ could get the information he needed to fill in a _form of disappearance_, why couldn't you as a damn _sheriff _find us?"

Her voice was growing louder and louder with every word.

"Is it just me of is there something _slightly_ off about this whole situation? Huh?"

She had jumped off of the chair and now stood in front of Keith, her chest heaving and falling with every deep breath she took. Anger flared her words, streamed through her body, made the blood get pumped through her veins at a faster speed. She was _this_ close to jabbing her finger into his chest to stress everything she said.

"Veronica, didn't you ever think that it was slightly off that you didn't have a father in the picture your entire life?" He now began.

Veronica took a step backwards and lifted her chin stubbornly. "So many kids don't have fathers around."

"But _nothing_? Not even a picture?"

"You might not wanna believe this, but it actually happens all the time. That's what women do when they're bitter about some guy, you know. Throw away everything that reminds 'em of the jerk, including pictures."

"Okay then, drop that theory. Don't you think it's slightly off that your mother ran away with you not even a year after you were born? How's that for normal human behaviour?"

"I'll make sure to ask her next time I see her, okay? And besides, it's not like I've known that fact for years. As I recall it correctly, you barged into my life not even a week ago. I would have asked her if I knew beforehand."

Stubborn Veronica wasn't at all a pleasant person.

"I'm asking you now. Why do you think that she ran away and, technically speaking, kidnapped you?" Keith asked.

Somehow, they had gotten themselves invading each other's personal space again. Veronica had to look up slightly to be able to look into Keith's face, and once again, she cursed her length. But that didn't stop her from balling her fists next to her side, or clenching her jaw.

"How did we get from, _"Why couldn't you find us?" _to "_Why d'you think she ran away the first time?"_ ?" she inquired, brows raised as she dared him to defy her.

"Qualities of a good sheriff. Now answer my question." An attempted joke. Maybe this wouldn't end up in a big shouting match after all.

Veronica turned away, raising a hand to undo her ponytail, running the hand through her hair absently as she thought. When she couldn't think of any decent reason, her eyes rolled skyward and she threw up her arms in exhilaration. "I don't know, okay?" she said, feeling as though her pride was being stamped into the ground. Nobody ever said that she wasn't a proud little blonde. "Maybe she grew tired of life her. Who knows?"

For a second, it looked like Keith was gonna say something, like he was finally going to tell her everything he knew, every tiny detail. Because Veronica knew, she felt, call it instinct, that he was holding something back. She could tell by the way he was avoiding her gaze right now, by the way he was tapping the now empty file folder on the counter.

But then that second passed and Veronica was left standing in a small apartment with her new father, a dog and a file concerning her missing mother, and she was feeling incredibly frustrated.

Not to mention disappointed.

She saw that Backup's leash was still attached to his collar and said, looking down at the still panting dog, "I'm going to take him for a walk."

And gone she was.

* * *

Veronica Mars had never been someone who needed much time to think. She was used to being able to connect the dots immediately, seeing the connections as soon as a problem was manifesting itself. More importantly, she was used to finding solutions in a whim. But this wasn't math class, or biology 010. She hated that the whole talk to Keith had brought up more questions than answers.

Perhaps that was why she was now throwing Backup's leash with all her strength, and watching the dog cross after it to retrieve it.

She was standing on one of the many beaches in Neptune. The sun still stood high in the blue, cloudless sky, and for once, Veronica wished for rain. For thunder and lightening. Anything else than this overly happy weather.

She let out a sigh when the brown animal had reached her again, dropping the leash at her feet. Bending over, she grabbed it, careful not to touch the wet and slimy parts from where the dog's teeth had sunk in, and threw it away again. It landed in the water, but that didn't appear to be a problem, seeing as how Backup ran straight into it.

Veronica slowly dropped herself on to the warm sand. She stretched out her legs in front of her, moving them as if she was trying to make one of those angels in the snow. Her eyes narrowed because of the sun, she idly watched Backup holding the leash between his teeth, tail moving left and right in an upbeat tempo.

"Well, you might just be the last person I expected to find here." a voice from behind her suddenly said.

Veronica's head turned faster than human heads are meant to; her neck protested and she made a sour face, rubbing a hand over it. It seemed like everything that could go wrong, was going wrong today. Murphy's law, exactly what she needed.

Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw the owner of the voice.

Logan Echolls was standing right behind her, his slippers slowly filling with sand. He wore a pair of long jeans, the frayed edges just trailing behind his feet. His white wife-beater could have easily been a Hanes, but was, knowing who is father was and all that, definitely some more expensive brand. He didn't seem to mind the soft breeze at all.

"Always be prepared for the unexpected," Veronica replied coolly, not bothering to get up. Instead, she placed her hands palm-down in the sand, supporting on her arms as she kept an eye on Backup running through the water, apparently enjoying himself. She just had to make sure he held on to the leash.

"Mind if I join you?" his voice came questioningly. She was preparing to say something along the lines of "no", but he didn't even wait for her answer and plopped himself down next to her.

She looked at him sideways and saw that familiar smirk of his on his face, and she had to refrain herself of doing him physical damage. She'd never met anyone quite like him before. Maybe if he lost the attitude, she would be able to see the smirk actually held something charming.

Veronica sighed. "Suit yourself." She said, making a dismissive sign with her hand.

"I am."

"That wasn't even a question."

"Did you not notice? That was a perfect conversation-ending."

Veronica rolled her eyes. "You came to sit next to me so we could both shut up?"

Logan widened his eyes until they were the size of platters. "Do you think that could be possible?"

When she didn't answer, he nudged her shoulder. She tore her eyes away from the dog, who was making his way towards her again, and looked at him irritably. "What?"

"I'm just wondering what a girl like you is doing on Dog Beach without a dog." Logan said innocently, his smile showing off his pearly whites. Veronica wondered how much his dentist got paid.

"Is that an opening line or is that genuine curiosity I'm detecting there?" she shot back. Backup was only a few feet away now, and Logan hadn't even noticed him.

Logan shrugged. "Could be both."

Veronica was momentarily taken aback by his sudden change in behaviour. At school, he'd been cocky, arrogant. Snarky. Sarcastic. All of the other characteristics she'd summed up to Katie on the phone.

"Backup, here, boy." she called out to the brown dog, more to have something to say than anything else. The animal came jogging over to her, his tongue dangling down the side of his beak, teeth revealed. He went to lie down in front of her, paws outstretched.

"You were wrong about the dog," Veronica said, not taking her eyes off of Backup. Next to her, Logan chuckled. The dog growled.

"Feisty little creature." Logan smirked.

"Going to insult the dog now, Echolls? That's a low blow." Veronica's answer came, snarky as always.

She turned her head to look at him and noticed his suddenly fallen face. There was a tiny part of her that was worried that she'd upset him, but then, in typical Veronica-fashion, a little voice that sounded a mighty lot like her own said, "_You didn't do anything wrong. If he gets upset by the use of his last name, he should really toughen up._"

That thought satisfied her for the time being.

"Who said anything about it being about the dog?" Logan snarked. For a moment, she thought he was angry, but as her eyes travelled over his face for as long as she dared without being too obvious, she noticed the playful glittering in his brown eyes and she allowed herself to laugh mockingly. She even tilted her head backwards, her hair cascading down her shoulders.

She balled her fist and bumped it to his upper arm. Hard. "You're just too funny!" she exclaimed in a voice that would have made Lilly Kane proud.

They were both silent for a second. Veronica was poking her bare toes into Backup's not so furry fur.

Then, she found the courage to speak again.

Wait, when did she have to find courage? She was Veronica Mars. Daughter to an alcoholic mother, abandoned several times, hardened and wise-ass. She did not, under any circumstances, have to find courage.

That was what she kept telling herself.

"What are you doing here? I don't see a dog around. And from what I've heard, you probably have your own private beach." she spoke, pretending to be interested in watching two twenty-something women walk by with their Chihuahua's in their arms.

She heard him sigh. They were both staring at the sea now.

"I come here a lot," was his only explanation, one she didn't like at all. He continued with, "And for the record, I don't have my own beach."

As she glanced at him, she saw him giving her a pointed look, and she smiled softly.

"So you come all the way down here, all by yourself, and decide to talk to one of the least popular girls in our wonderful little school? I'm honoured."

"Don't worry, that Weevil guy's still number one in my least popular list." Logan responded simply, brushing some sand off of the hem of his jeans. Veronica stopped herself from telling him that that was pretty much the stupidest move to make on a beach.

She ignored his last sentence. "So talking to me in a public place doesn't automatically mean "deduction" for your Pirate Points?" she asked him, eyebrows travelling so high up her forehead they almost disappeared into her hairline.

Veronica'd learned all about Pirate Points from Wallace, and not only did she find the system incredibly outdated and just plain stupid, she also knew, from the moment her friend had mentioned it, that it was practically impossible for people like her to earn any.

"Do you even have an idea of how bitter you sound?" Logan laughed out loud, falling down with his back into the sand. "What's that, jealousy?"

She clenched her jaw. "What should I be jealous of? Friends like that Dick Casablancas?"

"You've talked to _Dick_!" Logan said, as if he'd just come up with a brilliant idea. He raised a hand and wriggled a finger in front of her. "Don't listen to anything he says. No wonder you're all defensive. We're not all as stupid as Dick, believe me."

Veronica tilted her head as she looked down upon him. "I'm not acting the way I am because you're friends with Dick," she said, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the mention of the name. "I'm just not so into arrogance and an attitude the size of Europe just because my father's an actor."

And at that moment, she knew she'd hit a sore spot.

_TBC._


	9. 9 All hail the tireiron

**Painfully Human**

I am so, so sorry for leaving you hanging.

* * *

_**Previously: **__**And at that moment, she knew she'd hit a sore spot.**_

Logan grabbed a handful of sand and let it slip through his fingers. The wind swept the tiny korrels up, showering Veronica with them. She had to shield her eyes.

"Yes, of course – my father," he spat out bitterly. "By all means, let's drag my father into this."

Backup growled defensively.

Veronica raised her eyebrows. "I'm sure your father is an incredibly _gifted_ man outside of his movies; I just don't think you should rely solely on your last name."

"Rely on my last name?" Logan laughed humorlessly. "Is that what you think I do?"

He scrambled to get upright; Veronica did the same. Her feet sank away in the warm sand.

"I don't know what you do, apart from ruling over high school with your pathetic little friends," she responded angrily. Once again, she was incredibly aware of the fact that Logan towered out above her, glaring at her with his dark eyes. Someone else might've been afraid – might've felt the need to bolt – but not she. She'd faced worse than a rich kid getting offended. This was a stare-down she could win with both hands bound behind her back.

"You have no idea of what I do," he spoke slowly, very clearly, his eyes thrilling holes into hers.

Neither one of them would break the connection.

Then, Logan turned away, huffing arrogantly. "You know, I don't even know why I'm talking to you. Perhaps you should go back to your trailer park – that is where you belong, I've heard."

He turned around on his heel and mulled through the sand. Backup barked loudly.

Veronica just stood there, her mouth hanging open.

* * *

The next day, she was filled with a feeling of anticipation and dread – and she had no idea why. The argument – if one could call it that – with Logan hadn't been that much of a deal; popularity never influenced her actions – so why was she this nervous?

Wallace had noticed as soon as she climbed out of the yellow school bus, cursing her lack of car.

"What the hell is up with you?" he asked, his eyebrows pulling together into a deep V.

"Can you hold this for me for a second?" Veronica said, pushing her laptop case into his hands as she dug through her brown messenger bag.

"Sure, that's what I'm here for – your own personal hanger," Wallace grumbled, but he took the bag nonetheless. "Jeez, what is in this thing? A 200-pound computer?"

She shot him a weary smile. "And a couple of books. Neptune High hates me."

"You? Tiny little pixie who's managed to piss off the 09'ers in less than a week? No way," her friend told her sarcastically. "I must say, you have a real knack for annoying people. There are some pretty nasty rumors going around."

They walked through the double glass doors, Veronica still groping inside her bag.

"Do I annoy you?" she questioned him breathlessly when they descended a step of flights.

Wallace smiled a smile that resembled a grimace. "You could never."

The hallway on the second floor was filled with students; Veronica had to watch out where she was going. After a couple more minutes, they reached her locker, and she opened it with more force then necessary.

Pulling books and binders from the depths of her bag, she began stuffing them inside the confined space, Wallace staring at her all the while. When she finally slammed the little metal door shut, he sighed.

"What has gotten into you?"

"I'm sorry. Am I being a horrible friend?"

She leaned against the wall, rubbing a hand over her brow. "I'm just distracted, that's all. I'm sorry."

She didn't really mean it.

If Wallace could tell, he didn't call her on it. He just shrugged – once more the typical picture of a baller. Apparently, he'd decided it was time for a change of subject. They started to make their way through the hallway, people brushing past them every second. It annoyed Veronica to no end. She brutally shoved someone who'd bumped into her, then smiled up innocently at the black guy next to her. He just raised his eyebrows and said, "So, why did you bring this?"

Veronica snatched the laptop case back from him. "It's an old thing from my – Keith. I don't know the first thing about computers, but I figured one of the teachers might be able to update it. Pop up the hood, check out the engine, you know."

He grinned. "Teachers? What, you so desperate to check out that "hot guy" with his French accent?"

She quirked a brow. "Hot, French-accented guy? Hell yes, I'm in."

Upon reaching the journalism room, Veronica could feel anxiety creeping up on her again. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. She tucked the case underneath her arm and paused before the doorway.

"Well, if you're really looking for someone who knows his stuff, I'd recommend Mac. She's a student here, but awesome with computers. Who knows, she might even do it for free," Wallace told her, not commenting on the sudden activity at her sleeve.

"Wouldn't that be nice," she grimaced in response, giving him a small wave before turning around and entering the class room.

She was one of the first ones there; only Mrs Dent had already arrived. The black woman gave her an approving smile.

"Hi there, Veronica," she called out.

Veronica gave her a curt nod, dropping her now much lighter bag on to one of the desks.

"Hey… are you by any chance interested in covering a story for the Navigator? Just something small-scale, really. There's a surf competition going on in San Diego, and we need a reporter," Mrs Dent suddenly told her, looking up from the papers she had been grading.

"I don't know – I'm sure someone else's been lusting after an assignment – I don't want to make anyone upset," Veronica replied. Ha. As if she'd ever cared about upsetting people. Her blue eyes met Mrs Dents' brown ones, and the teacher grinned. "Early bird gets the worms."

"I've always loved worms."

"Excellent! I'll fill you in on the details later," Dent grinned. Her voice turned stern. "There you all are! Class began five minutes ago!"

Lilly and her posse had entered the room. In the last few days, Veronica hadn't had any trouble with the beautiful, blond-haired girl, but she suspected the girl was the one who had been spreading "nasty rumors."

Lilly smiled broadly. "I'm terribly sorry, Mrs Dent. I got caught up."

The two girls flanking her snickered. They both wore identical skirts and low-cut tops. Veronica suppressed a shudder.

More people started to come in; soon the journalism room was filled with people. Veronica recognized Duncan, the brown-haired boy who hung around Lilly all the time, and of course Dick, who winked at her. She turned her gaze to the doorway, half hoping Logan would show up – and half hoping he wouldn't. He'd insulted her. He'd been the ass she'd suspected him to be.

People just couldn't help living up to the clichés.

Just when Mrs Dent asked for their homework assignments, the guy Veronica had been dreading to see entered. He'd lost nothing of his usual arrogance, still walked with that swagger. He smirked at the teacher and high-fived with Dick before dropping himself into one of the vacant chairs.

"Logan? Your assignment?" Mrs Dent interrupted the sudden chatter Logan always seemed to start.

He hung back in his seat and twirled a piece of paper around. "Canis meus it comedit. My dog ate it." Trademark smirk. "Sorry."

The woman rolled her eyes in response. Choosing to ignore her student's rudeness, she started to talk about the Navigator's new issue.

* * *

Time breezed by so fast Veronica barely had time to blink; before she knew, it was eleven twenty and she was stuck in English, waiting desperately for the buzzer to go. Lunch was beckoning.

The clock on the far wall ticked another slow minute.

She let out a sigh.

Her gaze drifted off from the teacher, a man in his mid-thirties with his tie too tightly around his neck. She looked out of the window and yawned, not even bothering to hide it.

It was a beautiful afternoon; warm and light. She could see the benches in the lunch area. The outside world was taunting her with its warm rays of sunshine and blue sky and green trees –

And a figure who looked a mighty lot like Logan Echolls sneaking across the parking lot.

She bolted upright, her back rigidly straight. The teacher shot her a questioning look. She opened her mouth to speak.

_Time to choose, Veronica. Ask Logan what the hell he was doing outside of class or stay here and sit through Mr Varner's boring lecture on turn-of-the-century literature._

Sure, she knew curiosity killed the cat.

Good thing she wasn't a cat, then.

* * *

It only took a hall pass to get out of Neptune High's main building. Somehow, she was disappointed her escape had gone this easily, this unnoticed. Closing the glass door behind her, she carefully made her way to the parking lot.

"Logan?" Veronica called out unsure. She had no way of knowing if he'd heard her- the wind carried her voice the other way. If he had taken any notice, he was doing a good job at ignoring her. Frowning, she started to walk up to where he was standing. What was he holding?

Stumbling over a step she had overlooked, she let out a surprised yelp. She saw Logan's head snap around to look at her, and cursed inwardly. Not the best way to make her presence known.

He turned around again and swung the thing he was holding – and holy cow, was that a motorcycle?

Veronica ran towards him. "What…?" her voice trailed off questioningly, right before the iron thing collided with the smooth, red hardtop of the bike.

"You know how anything you lose, automatically doubles in value?" Logan asked her conversationally, still not looking at her. He weighed the piece of metal in his hands, tilting his head to the side. "I'm just putting the statement to a test, that's all. And Weevil – well, let's just say he's my subject."

The frown didn't disappear from her face.

"What the hell are you doing? Are you insane?" she yelled as he swung the tire-iron – for she had recognized it now - gracefully, bashing in the headlight of the bike. She jumped back at the harsh sound of glass breaking and metal twisting.

"Yes. And contrary to popular belief, I don't actually suffer from insanity – I enjoy every minute of it," Logan replied easily. The metal cleaved through the air again. The loud sound of metal grinding against metal made Veronica cringe.

She could feel anger bubbling up inside her – she'd always had a temper. Seemed like Neptune was causing it to resurface again.

Pushing a lock of blond hair behind her ear, she stomped her foot angrily on the ground, fisting her hands. "Stop it!"

"No."

Another bang.

In the distance, she could hear shouts.

"Logan, you're going to get yourself into trouble –"

"I'm only young once."

Bash.

"But apparently, you can be immature forever," Veronica mumbled to herself. Fine. If he wanted to get treated the same way he was treating this motorcycle –

She turned around to do something, anything, and stared into the face of Eli Weevil Navarro, who didn't look too happy with the current situation.

**TBC**

**What did you think? This was written in a haste- I finally had some inspiration, but I'm prone to just writing and posting stuff without proof-reading it. A nasty habit, I know – one that's proven its disuse (if you could call it that) when I read this story again. Seriously, I cringed. **

**Again, I'm terribly sorry for being such a bad, bad author. I suck.**

**I promise that after the X-mas break (so from Jan 3****rd****) you can all expect regular updates. **


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